


The Good Brother

by ALeighS



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Based on a Tumblr Post, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, M/M, Regulus Black Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-05-20 05:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14888546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALeighS/pseuds/ALeighS
Summary: Regulus agrees to be a spy for the Order of the Phoenix shortly before Voldemort's downfall. Thirteen years later, he’s a reluctant potions master under the watchful eye of Albus Dumbledore, just trying to get through his days without cursing the meddling Headmaster. Now Regulus's estranged brother has escaped from Azkaban, and Dumbledore has had the grand idea to invite Sirius's pet werewolf to teach at the school.





	1. Fall Term

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This story is based on the tumblr post by proffessorsparklepants which says "Can we have a Harry Potter AU where Regulus Black is the Death Eater spy turned potions master instead of Snape?" http://professorsparklepants.tumblr.com/post/174617137460/ravenclaw-in-snakeskin-boots-nyodrite
> 
> This story somehow went from a buddy cop comedy where Remus and Regulus team up to catch Sirius to a quiet meditation on Regulus's relationship with Kreacher and his reluctant appreciation of Harry (??). I'm not entirely sure how that happened, but I hope you all enjoy anyway! 
> 
> A bit of language in this chapter- one or two f bombs.

Regulus hardly slept well at the best of times. Despite being 13 years removed from the influence of Lord Voldemort, he had never lost the attention to detail required when one is playing double agent against the greatest dark wizard of the time. So when a sharp knock rang through his house in the wee hours of the morning, he awoke instantly. He rose out of bed and shrugged into his robe with a swift elegance that had been burned into him, sometimes literally, by his pureblood family. He stepped rapidly down the stairs to the entryway, his stride automatically quiet to prevent awakening the portrait of his mother and inviting her long winded soliloquies. 

 

There was only one person it could be; yet, his wand was held loosely in his hand, lightly threatening. He kept his stance relaxed, but there was a dangerous air about him nonetheless. As he opened the door to reveal Albus Dumbledore, he tried hard to ignore the knowing glance the headmaster gave him. Albus acknowledged the wand with a nod and provided Regulus the passcode they had worked out years ago.

 

“Come in, Headmaster,” Regulus said, stepping back and allowing the older man to enter. “We can sit in the drawing room. I’ll have Kreacher get us some tea. A lemon drop in yours, correct?”

 

“Right you are, Regulus,” Dumbledore said. “I have a matter of importance to discuss with you.”

 

“Of course,” Regulus said, nodding with a smile at his loyal house elf. Kreacher eyed him knowingly before scurrying to get the tea. Regulus relaxed slightly, breathing out and dropping his shoulders. He knew the house elf would stay near once the conversation began, gathering information and and observations the way other house elves gathered trinkets. 

 

“What’s the problem, Headmaster?” Regulus asked, perching on the edge of his high backed chair. He folded his hands gracefully in his lap and leaned forward slightly, taking care to keep his back straight and purposeful. “I must admit, I was looking forward to taking a quiet summer after the rather, uh, excitable year we just completed.”

 

“Unfortunately, Regulus, even the best plans can be derailed by unforeseen circumstances,” Dumbledore told him gravely. “Thank you, Kreacher.” He took the proffered tea. 

 

“It seems your brother has escaped Azkaban.”

 

Regulus couldn’t stop the surprised breath that escaped from him. 

 

“Excuse me,” he said, setting down his own tea. “I’m very surprised, Albus.”

 

“As am I,” the Headmaster said. “You, of all people, can see why this is worrisome. The stone, the chamber, and now Sirius? I fear Voldemort grows stronger, Regulus, and his influence greater. Clearly the locket was not the only horcrux he created.”

 

“You think Voldemort helped Sirius escape?” Regulus asked. “I have told you a million times, Albus. I never saw evidence of Sirius working with Voldemort. His betrayal of the Potters must have been his first and last attempt to make contact.”

 

“And yet here we are,” Albus said, opening his hands in a gesture meant to encompass the last several years and not merely the Black family’s impeccably clean drawing room. “You have argued rather eloquently in the past that your brother could not have committed the crime he was accused of. I must ask, Regulus, if there mightn’t be another way he could have escaped?”

 

“Of course I argued,” Regulus said, his tone rather clipped. “Sirius rejected me, our family, his fortune, and his birthright to stand by James Potter. I was shocked by his defection, to say the least. I can only conclude that he must have been swayed by the hope of reuniting with me, much as I was swayed by the hope of reuniting with him. Oh, the irony.”

 

“The gift of the magi,” Albus replied. Regulus gazed at him and decided not to comment. Albus often said things Regulus understood to be spoken more for the air of mystery than to add anything meaningful to the conversation. The old man was brilliant, manipulative, cruel - but all for the greater good, of course. Old meddler. 

 

The silence stretched. 

 

“Of course I did nothing to help him,” Regulus said with a frown. “You know that, don’t you, Headmaster? I don’t claim to understand Sirius’s motivation, but other than my disbelief directly after the fact, I have never done anything that could be construed as supportive of his cause. I have not even visited him.”

 

Dumbledore hummed in acquiescence and accepted a refill on his tea from Kreacher. 

 

“And you know no one who might have? No stirrings from the old crowd?”

 

“You mean Malfoy, and the like?” Regulus confirmed. “None at all. Have you visited Lupin? If anyone would free him, it would be that lovesick fool.”

 

“Remus suffered a great blow, to be sure,” Dumbledore said softly. “But he is not permitted near Azkaban, as you know, due to his unfortunate affliction.”

 

“I wouldn’t put it past him to find a way, Albus,” Regulus replied, his tone becoming more flat as he entered a familiar argument. “You’ve given him no support since the “blow”, as you call it. He has fallen into poverty and despair without my brother to support him. He claims no knowledge of Sirius’s betrayal, but they lived together, for Merlin’s sake!” 

 

“I visited him this morning, Regulus,” Dumbledore said soothingly. “Please, sit back. Drink your tea.”

 

Regulus, who relaxed in the presence of Kreacher and Kreacher only, merely glared. 

 

“And was your visit...fruitful?” He inquired, raising his cup and taking a sip.

 

“I have offered him a job.”

 

Regulus nearly sputtered, swallowing hard and burning his throat in an effort to maintain his composure.

 

“Albus. You needn’t replace your Defense candidate each year with someone more incompetent than the last.”

 

“Remus is a very accomplished wizard. Highly skilled in defense and knowledgeable about all sorts of dark creatures.”

 

“Because he is one!” Regulus said, finally allowing his irritation to slip through. “How is this helpful? This is more likely to draw my brother towards the school than keep him away. He’ll be itching to see his old paramour, I’m sure.”

 

Dumbledore hummed again in a casual sort of way and Regulus felt his heart rate increase. He stood, setting his cup down firmly.

 

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? Why do you insist on using the school as a magnet for all things Voldemort?”

 

“Regulus, you fail to understand the subtleties of the situation. Voldemort will come for Harry, that is a given. He has come the last two years, disguised as a stuttering man and a harmless old book. You have never understood Remus the way I do. He is not a lovesick fool, but a scorned man. He would do anything to make up for what he perceives as his own failure to protect the Potter’s from Sirius Black. I have no doubt that he will make a formidable protector for Hogwarts.”

 

Regulus shook his head. 

 

“I’m afraid I must show you out,” he said finally. “I will need some time to consider this.”

 

“Of course,” Dumbledore said graciously, rising from his chair. The wizards swept towards the door, Dumbledore’s ridiculous purple robes looking ghastly and flamboyant against the reserved green decor. Regulus opened the door and gestured Dumbledore out as respectfully as he could. 

 

“Don’t consider too long, old friend,” Dumbledore said. “You need to start practicing the wolfsbane potion.” Before Regulus could respond, Dumbledore had turned on the spot and vanished.

 

“Regulus, dear,” his mother’s portrait said from behind him. “You always have been the best about your manners. I know, appearances, appearances...but must you invite the riffraff in for tea? Mudblood loving fool.” 

 

\---

 

When Regulus heard the news that Harry Potter had gone missing, Kreacher brought him a strong glass of elf-made wine from the cellar. The two of them sat glumly, staring at one another across the drawing room, watching the fireplace and willing an update to come. When it did, Regulus was surprised; Dumbledore’s bearded, disembodied head cheerfully told him that the Knight Bus had picked Harry up. 

 

“It couldn’t be helped that he knows Sirius has escaped, of course,” Albus said. “Harry has admirably put two-and-two together and now suspects your relation.”

 

“How startling. The boy can recognize a share surname. What sharp wit.”

 

Albus laughed heartily and winked as he exited the fireplace. Regulus sighed and looked at Kreacher. 

 

“Should we pay a visit to the old fleabag?”

 

“It is Master Regulus’s decision,” Kreacher said. “Kreacher has the address on hand, as requested. However, Kreacher thinks there is nothing to be gained by visiting the werewolf. He did not blow up the Potter brat’s aunt.”

 

“Right as always, Kreacher,” Regulus sighed. “You must come with me to Hogwarts this year. The Hogwarts house elves simply cannot meet your standards of service, especially in these trying times.”

 

Kreacher looked delighted. 

 

“Of course, Master Regulus. And Kreacher should perhaps keep an eye on the werewolf? No one will notice an elf out of place at Hogwarts.”

 

“I knew you would understand,” Regulus said. “In fact, what if we started that arrangement now? My belief is that the werewolf will take the train so that he’ll have an opportunity to see Potter with fewer constraints. If he is working with Sirius…”

 

“Of course, Master Regulus. Kreacher will trail him and report back nightly. Naturally, Kreacher will still make sure Regulus is receiving proper meals in a timely manner.”

 

“Thanks, Kreacher,” Regulus said, sighing and sinking back into his arm chair. “Damn my brother, the great fool.”

 

“He was always troublesome,” Kreacher agreed knowingly. “Oh, how my Mistress used to beat him…”

 

“Don’t sound so happy, Kreacher,” Regulus admonished, but there was no passion in his tone. “Sirius got beat for playing Dumbledore’s side. That’s what we’re doing now.”

 

“We are playing the side that allows us to live,” Kreacher muttered in disagreement. “Master Sirius did not know how to play; he was always all in. Mistress beat him for being so obvious.”

 

Regulus couldn’t disagree with that, and so he settled for sipping his wine instead. 

 

\---

 

On September 1st, Kreacher and Regulus moved his drawing room furnuture and robes into the dungeon living quarters Regulus called home during the school year. A loud pop echoed around the room as Regulus organized his books. He spun around to see Kreacher, his bony chest rising and falling as he breathed rapidly. It was too early for the train to be in; something must have happened.

 

“Kreacher!” Regulus said, kneeling by his oldest friend and servant. “What is it? Did Lupin attack Potter?”

 

“Dementors, Master!” Kreacher gasped. His wide eyes were bloodshot and darting. 

 

“Here,” Regulus said, quickly grabbing a calming drought from his stores and shoving it in his house elf’s hand. “Take just a quarter of the dose- that’s enough. There you go.”

 

Kreacher’s eyelids drooped slightly and his breathing slowed. Regulus shuttered, remembering the visions forced upon him in a dark cave he had infiltrated 14 years before. He and Kreacher shared these memories around dementors, forced to relive the pain and agony from their time in Voldemort’s service.

 

“Dementors on the train, Master,” Kreacher finally said. “Lupin was with the boy. He tried to cast a Patronus but was too weak. The boy fainted as I was leaving to come here.”

 

“Did they see you?” Regulus asked, swinging a small blanket around Kreacher’s shoulders without comment. The house elf pretended not to notice and Regulus pretended not to be doing it. 

 

“No, Master, the children and the werewolf did not see Kreacher. Kreacher was invisible in the luggage compartment and left as the dementors entered.” 

 

Regulus checked his pocket watch. 

 

“The train should be here soon,” he said. “Stay here. Recover. Join me when you’re able. Invisible, of course.”

 

Kreacher gave a small bow. “Of course, Master.”

 

Regulus strode out of his living quarters and into the cold dungeon air. Really, Dumbledore was a sadist. They were magical, for Merlin’s sake. A simple environmental charm would keep the corridors at a livable temperature, but Dumbledore acted as though all Slytherins were actors in some great stage play and he was the set designer, trying to bring his vision to life. 

 

Regulus considered the events of the train. When Kreacher had apparated in, Regulus had been sure it was to report that Lupin had attacked Potter in full view of everyone. What had conspired, however, seemed entirely the workings of Cornelius Fudge, cowardly fool that he was. But Lupin had been with Potter, Regulus reflected, so perhaps he had been waiting for the perfect moment and had been spoiled. 

 

He spotted the children streaming through the entrance doors as he ascended the stairs from the dungeons. The other professors were joining the fray as well, their backs stiff and their faces disapproving as they assessed the frightened mass. Many of the older students were putting on an admirable show; the general air of the group was much more rambunctious and ostentatious than it usually was after the long train ride. Regulus saw Draco Malfoy doing a spirited impersonation of someone fainting and couldn’t hide his frown. That child was much too excitable to be a good slytherin, always casting around for notice and approval. He spotted Poppy Pomfrey swooping down on a pale Potter, who was glaring at Malfoy and muttering furious arguments as she led him away. 

 

Then, he spotted his quarry. Remus Lupin looked worse than ever. He was slightly taller than an average man and exceptionally thin. His dishwater hair was greying and new scars lined his face and hands. Regulus felt a sharp pang of contempt for the man, who had lived off Sirius’s fortune and had obviously amounted to nothing since then. A wry part of his mind reminded Regulus that the law made it hard for the werewolf to find work, and that Dumbledore had done nothing to help since throwing Lupin to the literal werewolves in the previous war. He pushed his pitying thoughts down, squared his shoulders, and marched through the throng of children. They parted to let him pass without him speaking, one tripping over her robe and falling in her haste to avoid him. 

 

“Lupin,” he said. 

 

“Regulus!” The werewolf said. His voice was raspy. Regulus had picked ripened ingredients under the full moon just two nights before. His sense of pity returned. 

 

“I need to speak to you. Now.”

 

He turned and walked back through the crowd without stopping to see if the man was following. Regulus heard Lupin’s raspy voice trailing behind him- “excuse me. Oh, excuse me. Thank you so much. Excuse me.”- and felt confident that the man was coming.

 

“This will due,” Regulus said, gesturing for Lupin to walk first into an empty classroom. There was no scenario under which Regulus would put his back to the werewolf. Lupin raised one eyebrow and walked in mildly. 

 

“I will be blunt. I don’t trust you, Lupin, and I feel Dumbledore made a mistake in bringing you on. I suspect you of helping my brother escape Azkaban and fear you are leading him here to hurt Harry Potter. I will be watching you very closely this year, Lupin, and I won’t hesitate to turn you over to the dementors if need be.”

 

Lupin watched him throughout this speech impassively. Up close, he looked even more sickly. The dark circles under his eyes made the blue irises looked faded and dull. Regulus could see that there was a slight shake to his hands when he ran them through his greying hair. 

 

“I understand,” Lupin said finally. “My only wish is for Harry to be safe. We have dovetailing interests, Regulus, whatever our past.”

 

“I don’t believe you,” Regulus reiterated. “My brother once used you in a murder plot to get rid of my closest friend. Why? To hurt me? I don’t know. You loved him anyway. If you can love him after that, I find it easy to believe you could toss aside a thirteen year old boy.”

 

Lupin raised his eyebrows again. Even they were showing signs of grey. 

 

“Severus suspected what I am,” he said. He cleared his throat gently. “Do you deny it?”

 

“That’s irrelevant,” Regulus said. “He assumed you would be chained, as any sane person would.”

 

“And his goal, in finding me chained? To catch Sirius in wrongdoing and get him expelled? Perhaps it was not Sirius, but Severus, who’s actions were meant to affect you.”

 

Regulus was momentarily stunned. Lupin’s mild expression had never changed, but there was a sense of finality in his tone.

 

“And what would have happened to you, if my brother’s plot had succeeded?” Regulus hissed, finding his anger harder to control now. “You would have been put down. And still you let him fuck you. Excuse me for not finding your proclamation that you are here to protect particularly moving.”

 

“Then I will just have to prove it to you,” Lupin said, stepping back from Regulus, who found he was leaning into the man’s space furiously. “Now, I have likely missed the song, but I would like to see the end of the sorting. Excuse me, Regulus.” 

 

Lupin moved towards the door and left. Regulus heard him pause and watched as the man stuck his head back in. 

 

“Thank you for agreeing to make the wolfsbane potion. I truly appreciate it.”

 

Regulus listened to Lupin’s footsteps as he walked down the corridor at a quick pace. Exiting the room, Regulus walked to his own living quarters rather quickly. When he entered he scanned the room, his heart picking up as he noticed the neatly folded elf-size blanket and the absence of Kreacher.

 

“Kreacher!” he called. There was a pop.

 

“Master,” Kreacher said. Regulus knelt by him. 

 

“I was worried,” he told the elf. 

 

“Kreacher is okay. Kreacher was looking through the werewolf’s trunk while Master spoke to him.”

 

“Brilliant,” Regulus said. “Did you find anything?”

 

“Nothing, Master,” Kreacher said, scuffing one horned foot against the ground in agitation.  “The werewolf has robes of the cheapest quality, more patches than fabric. He has one pair of boots, and an uncouth amount of books. There was some muggle artifact in there that Kreacher was suspicious of, but Kreacher could sense no curses or enchantments on it.”

 

“We will keep looking,” Regulus assured him.

 

“And Master Regulus? Were you successful?” 

 

“He’s either an occlumens or werewolves have a natural protection. I couldn’t pull anything from his mind.” Regulus sighed and sunk into his armchair, carefully transported to his Hogwarts quarters that morning. “But Dumbledore has asked me to protect Harry this year, and I’m determined to do so.”

 

“Hmm,” Kreacher muttered. “Kreacher is thinking the dotty old muggle lover is asking Master Regulus to do that  _ every  _ year.”

 

Regulus laughed heartily and conjured a chalice. 

 

“To protection,” he said, raising it to Kreacher. The house elf smiled darkly as he filled the cup with Regulus’s favorite elf-made wine. 

 

\---

 

Thursday was Regulus’s first potion class with the Gryffindor and Slytherin third years. Regulus kept his face level as they entered, noting with wry humor that Harry Potter sat himself as far from Regulus as possible. Potter’s body language was tense, his back rigid as he gazed past Regulus, his face purposefully blank. Regulus knew the boy was already attracting drama, from his collapse on the train to the “grimm” observed in his cup by the overgrown dragonfly Dumbledore called a teacher.

 

Potter wasn’t sure what to do with Regulus, a fact that quietly amused him to no end. The spitting image of his dad, this Potter lacked the confidence and bravado that his father had gained from copious amounts of lavish attention. Potter had suspected Regulus two years ago of wrongdoing, based solely on the fact that Regulus refused to worship and fawn over the boy. It wasn’t that the boy was affronted by Regulus’s lack of attention; it was that, with every other teacher heaping praise upon him, Regulus’s complete lack of response was off putting. Potter looked at Regulus as though Regulus had figured out his secret; that he really was perfectly ordinary, and all the other teachers had it backwards. Even Minerva, who was careful to never show favoritism in class, had sent the boy a top-of-the-line broomstick as a first year!

 

Regulus even saw potential in Potter, though he would never admit it. He reminded Regulus of Sirius, the signs of abuse and neglect palpable in the way he held his body. But he had a sense of reservation that Sirius had lacked. Regulus thought Potter could be honed, by the right person, into a shrewd and powerful figure…if only he’d get over his black-and-white understanding of morality. 

 

_ That  _ was only encouraged by Dumbledore, the old manipulator, and Regulus kept his hands out of it for that reason.

 

Midway through the class, Draco Malfoy sauntered in, heavily bandaged and with the theatrics turned all the way up. Regulus restrained himself from rolling his eyes. How a child of Narcissa could have turned out so  _ blunt  _ was a mystery to Regulus; he supposed his cousin must baby the child. Lucius and Narcissa were certainly much more subtle and nuanced in their approach to haughtiness; Draco was downright Gryffindor-ish in the way he sought attention. 

 

“Mr. Malfoy, to me, please,” Regulus called. Draco approached, looking slightly abashed. Regulus leaned down, speaking in a low voice and giving the impression that he was confiding in the child. He knew other teachers (and the ex-death eater school board members) expected a certain level of oiliness from Regulus; he tried, however, to steer the students in a direction that would  _ actually  _ be beneficial to them instead of playing the performative role of big bad head of Slytherin house. He didn’t really want to drive them into the arms of a potentially revived Dark Lord, after all; he merely needed to teach them to navigate a world that expected it of them regardless.

 

“Reign yourself in, Draco, please,” Regulus said. “I understand you have a certain...facade to uphold, supported by this petty rivalry you have with Potter. But unless you want everyone reflecting on how much you have to gain by exaggerating this injury, I would control your tone.” He clapped Draco’s shoulder and cast a glance around the room, catching the eyes on him and smiling knowingly. Draco mirrored his expression.

 

“Of course, sir,” he said through his barred teeth.

 

“Biased git,” One of the Weasley boys- Potter’s pet- muttered. Regulus caught his eye and smiled. A job well done, then. 

 

Draco settled at a table near the Parkinson girl, who was more than happy to cut his ingredients for him. Regulus watched him quietly. The boy might shape up, yet. For a minute he was powerfully reminded of another Slytherin, many years ago, trying desperately to perform the role he thought expected of him. Severus had come to Hogwarts a tiny and batlike eleven year old, armed with more knowledge of the dark arts than half the pureblood students combined, but with none of their refinement. It had taken years for Severus to finally be accepted as an inner circle Slytherin, and he had thrown it all away by going head-to-head with Voldemort over Lily Evans. 

 

Regulus let out a quiet sigh. He sometimes wondered, had the murder of his dear friend not happened so near to the poisoning of his beloved house elf, if he would be a Voldemort supporter still. Perhaps there was something to be said for non-conforming Slytherins after all. 

 

\---

 

Later, Regulus was settling into the staff room, ready to enjoy a quiet afternoon pretending to read while secretly listening to the gossip of his fellow professors. His actions weren’t shallow; rather, he used this time to passively absorb information from across the castle, quietly painting a picture of what was going on across all 500 students and teachers. There was a boggart rattling obnoxiously in a wardrobe near the corner and Regulus was finding it hard to concentrate on the book in front of him.

 

“Loony, loopy Lupin. Loony, loopy Lupin!”

 

Regulus raised his head and listened with interest as Lupin casually dealt with Peeves. He used a spell Regulus had never heard before, a prank-based hex that Regulus would have bet money Potter, Lupin, and Sirius had invented during their heyday as the school’s front runners. 

 

To Regulus’s surprise, the staff room door opened and Lupin walked in, the third year Gryffindor’s trailing after him. Regulus sat back, a slight smirk on his mouth as he watched them eye the shaking wardrobe nervously. Lupin smiled at them warmly and Regulus noticed with interest that he could see the children relax. There was something about the man that was soothing. Regulus found it suspicious. 

 

Lupin asked them a few questions to establish their level of knowledge, the answering of which was dominated by Hermione Granger. Regulus watched as Lupin made an effort to seek the thoughts of other student. He felt his respect for the man reluctantly rise. When Lupin offered Neville Longbottom a chance to be the first to face the boggart, Regulus decide to voice his thoughts. 

 

“Longbottom suffers from a lack of confidence, Lupin,” he informed the werewolf. Twenty students jumped and turned to face him, having forgot about his presence as they became absorbed in the lesson. “Longbottom, don’t let your thoughts get in the way of your actions. Lupin thinks you can do this. Don’t prove him wrong.”

 

Longbottom shook. Regulus was a bit miffed; he tried to push the boy to be his best, but something about Regulus seemed to bring out the worst in Longbottom. He knew the boy’s grandmother was hard on him and he wondered if something about his own pureblood mannerisms reminded the boy of her. 

 

“Have you thought about what shape your boggart might take, Neville?” Lupin asked him kindly. The boy flushed and muttered something under his breath. 

 

“Didn’t quite catch that, sorry,” Lupin said. He leaned nearer. The entire class held its breath as the boy whispered.    
  
“A cruel woman,” Neville said. 

 

Regulus felt a flash of dread. Lupin, removed as he had been since Sirius’s arrest, surely wasn’t so ignorant that he wouldn’t realize Neville’s meaning. But it seemed he had; his faded blue eyes met Regulus’s and there was a slight undercurrent of panic in them. 

 

“Really,” Regulus scoffed, standing up. “Some nameless, faceless old witch? Did your grandmother read you muggle fairy tales, Longbottom? You’re a wizard! Surely there’s something else you can think of?”

 

He knew that his cruelty could potentially backfire, but he hoped by putting the boy’s mind on something else, he could force the boggart to take a different shape than that of his cousin Bellatrix. Come to think of, Regulus’s relation to the woman probably increased his fear of Regulus as well.

 

“Fears can be very personal, Professor Black,” Lupin chastised lightly. “Neville, you think about it for a minute. Is there anyone else ready to go?”

 

Severals hands shot up; Lupin selected one of the Patil twins, who was confronted by a bloody mummy in unraveling strips. Regulus watched as Lupin got the class back under control, skillfully avoiding calling Potter or Longbottom to confront the boggart. He stepped up himself and was confronted with a full moon before Potter could reach the front of the line.

 

Then something happened very quickly, something that made Regulus happy he had stayed in the room. The silvery moon the boggart was inhabiting began to morph. It started to sprout eyes and a haughty nose, sharp cheekbones and dark hair. Lupin cast  _ ridikulus  _ quickly, blasting away Sirius’s face before the children could notice. The boggart became a stumbling man that Regulus was shocked to realize was himself, tripping on overlarge robes and crashing spectacularly to the floor. The children burst into laughter, the boggart burst into smoky wisps, and Lupin cast him an apologetic glance.

 

“Thank you,” the werewolf murmured as he passed by Regulus, herding his class out the door. “For saving me twice.”

 

“Only once was intentional,” Regulus hissed under his breath. “I would clearly never display such uncouth behavior.”

 

“That’s why it’s funny,” Lupin said, winking as he walked out and closing the door before Regulus could respond. He felt stunned; how could Lupin act so nonchalant when his boggart had taken the form of  _ Sirius Black?  _

 

Regulus wasn’t sure what it meant. Was Lupin frightened of the man who had tricked and betrayed him, or frightened of him being caught? 

 

\---

 

“Argh!” Regulus groaned in frustration on Halloween eve, nearly three weeks later. Despite Kreacher’s constant, invisible surveillance, Regulus’s barely concealed interrogations, and the dementor presence on the ground, he was no closer to finding any evidence that Lupin was helping Sirius. 

 

“Mistress used to say that if the Evening Prophet didn’t come out, it was good news,” Kreacher told him sagely, patting Regulus on the shoulders and refilling his wine. 

 

“But Sirius is out there, somewhere,” Regulus mused. “And he must be heading here. Perhaps I need to change my focus, try to find him instead. Could you still track him?”

 

“Only if he called Kreacher,” Kreacher said regretfully. “Kreacher’s connection to the ungrateful Sirius was severed when Mistress disowned him. Rightfully so.”

 

“And Lupin’s done absolutely nothing of interest? He’s sent no letters?”

 

Kreacher looked at Regulus with a rare expression of reproach.

 

“Of course not. Kreacher would not be forgetting to mention such a thing.”

 

“You’re right, of course, I’m sorry Kreacher.” Regulus tipped his head back and emptied his wine into his mouth, letting the hot, round taste linger on his tongue. “Well, I have to bring him his potion tomorrow while the brats are in Hogsmeade. Perhaps something will come out of that.”

 

He had little hope and knew Kreacher didn’t either, but the elf kindly didn’t say so. 

 

The following day, Regulus carefully carried the pitcher of wolfsbane toward Lupin’s office. The putrid smell, part earthy compost, part rotten meat, wafted behind him. Kreacher, invisible at his side, let out a muffled cough and gag. 

 

“I know,” Regulus muttered quietly. “But try to keep your noises to yourself. Lupin has good hearing.”

 

Regulus was surprised to see Harry Potter sitting in Lupin’s office, looking lost and a little lonely. His heart sped up slightly. Lupin was away from Kreacher for one day, and he already had Potter perched in his chair like a puffkin waiting to be trussed up for supper!

 

“I was just showing Harry my grindylow,” Lupin said, smiling at Regulus. Regulus narrowed his eyes at the raggedy man, who seemed a little too smug for Regulus’s liking. 

 

“Yes, those really should have been covered last year for Potter’s group,” Regulus said, not taking his eyes off Lupin. He noted that Harry held a tea cup and felt the urge to pluck it out of his scratched up, nail-bitten hands. He considered for a moment and then did so, storing away Potter’s incredulous expression to savor later. 

 

Regulus took a strong sniff. 

 

“Jasmine,” he spat. “I’m surprised you have anything more cultured than bagged Earl Grey.”

 

“It is a bag,” Potter said defensively. “And it’s mine.” He plucked it back out of Regulus’s hands. 

 

“Suit yourself, Potter. You should drink that immediately,” he addressed Lupin. “And don’t forget your next dose tomorrow. There’s an entire cauldron full.”

 

“Thank you, Regulus,” Lupin said. 

 

Regulus backed out of the room, not bothering to hide his watchful observation. Kreacher, ever the intelligent helper, stayed behind. 

 

\---

 

Later that evening, as Regulus was preparing to head down to the Halloween feast, a gentle tapping began at his door. 

 

He and Kreacher glanced at each other immediately. Regulus gave a sharp nod and Kreacher disappeared, using his elf magic to blend into the wall. Regulus opened his door and was surprised to see Lupin there, looking distinctly non-festive in his standard patched robes and tired eyes. 

 

“What do you want, Lupin? The potion is right there in my office, you must have smelled it as you passed.”

 

“Smelled it and drank it,” Lupin said pleasantly. Regulus felt distinctly uncomfortable with the idea that Lupin had been lingering out there for some undetermined amount of time. He tried to remember if he had cast a silencing charm before talking to Kreacher and found he couldn’t recall. 

 

“Your elf can show himself,” Lupin said casually. 

 

Well, then. Apparently not.

 

“I’ve also been able to smell him, following me.”

 

Damn. Regulus hadn’t considered Lupin’s supernaturally strong nose, and was cursing himself now for his obvious oversight. 

 

“You’ve known this entire time?” Regulus asked incredulously. “Kreacher, come.”

 

Kreacher materialized back into visibility, glaring up at the intruder with undisguised dislike. 

 

“Of course,” Lupin said. “But I thought I’d show you that I have nothing to hide.” He opened his arms wide. The gesture reminded Regulus of Dumbledore, doing the same at the beginning of the summer and saying ‘ _ and yet, here we are’.  _

 

“I’m on your side, Regulus,” Lupin said. “And you could have poisoned me today. You choose not to. Perhaps you’re seeing that we can work together?”

 

“Dumbledore would never forgive me for murdering his experiment,” Regulus said flippantly. “Besides, werewolves are different than humans. What if the dosage wasn’t high enough, and instead of killing you, I just made the potion faulty? I’m not going to be responsible for setting a werewolf on the entire school.”

 

“My office, of course, will be warded. By Dumbledore himself.”

 

“Forgive me if I don’t think Dumbledore is infallible,” Regulus said. 

 

“On that, we agree,” Lupin said. Regulus looked at him sharply. “Oh, yes, Regulus. I’m not as blind a follower as you seem to think.”

 

“Hmm,” Regulus said. He let the moment settle, observations and facts whirling in his brain. He allowed them to form an impression, one he would be unable to put into words, but which he used to inform his next move. Among the images was a young Harry Potter, battling devil’s snare and a killer chess set, a possessed man and a possessed diary, and even a fucking basilisk, for Merlin’s sake. 

 

“You think Dumbledore, perhaps, does not have Harry’s best interests at heart?” He kept his tone light, hoping that he could play off the question as an interrogation about loyalty, should he have misconstrued Remus’s intent. 

 

“I think Dumbledore cares strongly…” Regulus’s heart skipped a beat. “About the greater good. He’s a true utilitarianist.”

 

Regulus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

 

“Fine, then.” He stuck out his hand to the werewolf. Remus looked at him and smiled a small, triumphant smile. 

 

They shook hands. 

 

\---

 

The truce was short lived. The two walked to the feast together, ate side by side, and then departed to their separate chambers. Not fifteen minutes later, a claxon-like alarm was echoing through the corridors, and Regulus was leading his anxious Slytherins to the Great Hall. He ushered them in through the tall double doors, giving terse instructions to his prefects to ensure no one left. 

 

“What happened, Albus?” Pomfrey asked. “Are all the children okay?”

 

“The children are fine, Poppy. But Sirius Black was in the castle tonight. He has shredded the Fat Lady’s portrait in an attempt to enter Gryffindor House.”

 

Minerva let out a muffled sob. 

 

“Thank goodness the children were at the feast,” Lupin said. His face seemed very white. Regulus stared at him sharply. Could anyone be that good of an actor? Control the blood draining from their face? The shake in their voice? He felt supremely uncertain, a state he hated.

 

“Yes,” Dumbledore agreed. “We must search the castle at once.”

 

The group split up. Regulus wasted no time catching Lupin’s arm and pulling him aside. 

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Regulus found himself snarling, and released Lupin suddenly, taking a deep breath. 

 

“Regulus, I am as baffled as you,” Lupin pointed out. “I’ve not been out of your sight since I visited your office. How could you think I had something to do with this, and after our discussion?”

 

Regulus glared but found the expression hard to maintain. 

 

“I’m baffled, Lupin, frankly,” he finally said. He brushed his hair behind his ears, an old gesture of vulnerability he thought he had eradicated. He yanked his hands down and grasped them tightly in front of himself. “I want to believe you. But no one knows Sirius better than you.” 

 

“Some might argue the same of you,” Lupin said mildly. 

 

“Me?” Regulus said. “Who has been saying that?”

 

“Some of the student...some of their parents. The staff, of course, supports you one hundred percent.”

 

Regulus wondered at this. Suddenly, he saw himself, as though from a distance. Regulus Black, brother to mass murderer Sirius Black and heir to the infamously dark Black family, cousin to Bellatrix Lestrange. Here he stood with Remus Lupin, dirt poor werewolf, who had everything to lose if he were exposed to be aligned with the man everyone expected him to be. 

 

“I’m withholding my judgement,” he finally said. Lupin nodded at him. 

 

“Best get searching. Have your elf check the Room of Requirement. Ask for a ‘safe place’. Also, the passageway behind the mirror on the fourth floor.”

 

Regulus wasn’t sure what to think of this advice, this small glimpse into the childhood of his brother and his best friends. He was struck by a sudden, strong feeling of longing. He had an impression of himself, laughing with his brother over his mother’s howlers, joining the marauders as they scampered around the castle at night, pranking and plotting. It was a long-passed fantasy that he had not recalled in many years; the desire was so strong it hurt. 

 

“Thank you,” he finally said, and the two parted ways. 

 

Hours later, with the clock striking 3 a.m., Regulus reported back to Dumbledore. He wondered if he should tell the headmaster of Remus’s small confession, the sacrifice of secret places and sacred memories the werewolf had made to ensure Sirius was nowhere in the castle. 

 

“Headmaster? You remember the conversation we had at the beginning of summer?” The nosy Gryffindor prefect, another Weasley boy, watched openly and eagerly. 

 

“I do, Regulus,” Dumbledore replied, a slight warning in his tone. 

 

“It seems almost impossible that Black could have got in without some sort of...advanced...knowledge. Beyond what the average student would gain while being here.”

 

Dumbledore merely looked at him.

 

“Anyway, the person we discussed? They provided some interesting insight into alternate avenues into the school. We should ensure they are guarded going forward.”

 

“Of course,” Dumbledore said. There was a hint of happiness in his small smile and Regulus felt slightly defensive. Dumbledore would see this as a personal victory, but Regulus tried to keep the bigger picture in mind. “Thank you for your time tonight, Regulus. We should all retire to our beds now.”

 

**\---**

 

“The passageway is caved in, Master Regulus,” Kreacher reminded him. “And the come-and-go room showed me a safe place- for elves! The werewolf must have lied.”

 

Regulus sighed and nodded. They had already had this conversation, but they were as stuck as a broom with a broken flight charm. 

 

“What else can Kreacher do for Master Regulus?” The elf asked. Regulus smiled at him kindly, noting that his ear hair was turning more white than grey. He felt a sense of nostalgia for his childhood, and forcefully pushed the thought away. 

 

He was ashamed that his moment of childlike loneliness had caused him to let his guard down. Lupin must be playing a long strategy; that’s what Regulus would have done in there werewolf’s position. If there was one hidden passageway and a room of infinite possibilities, it wasn’t much of a stretch to assume there were other secrets held in the castle, secrets Lupin hadn’t shared.

 

“I’m not sure what else we can do right now, Kreacher,” Regulus said, reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ears. His house elf smiled at him and patted his hands good naturedly. 

 

“Master Regulus is a good boy and Master Regulus must stop fiddling with his hair. Mistress would not approve!”

 

There was a knock on his office doors. Regulus rose and exited his quarters, moving through his office and opening the door. It was Draco Malfoy, requesting a postponement of the Slytherin versus Gryffindor match. Regulus was agitated. Couldn’t the little brat see that there were more important things going on than his little school yard rivalry? To say nothing of the few (hundred) galleons Regulus had bet on the outcome of the match. Any interference on his part now would look as if he thought they couldn’t win!

 

“I’ll write my father,” Draco whined, and Regulus could barely constrain his eye roll. 

 

“When I was in school, Lucius Malfoy would have been ashamed at such an obvious tactic,” Regulus confided in the boy with a falsely casual air. “Besides, Potter excels on the field...do you really think putting him against Hufflepuff is going to cause him to throw the game?”

 

“Hufflepuff’s new team is really good!” Draco whined. “And the weather’s supposed to stay horrible and it makes my arm ache.  _ Really. _ ”

 

Regulus surveyed him.

 

“Your father, does he have any inside connections that could get me an update on the Black case?”

 

“Oh, yes sir!” Draco gasped. “I’ll have him write you, sir.”

 

Regulus received an envelope from Lucius the Friday before the Quidditch match. He plucked it from the preening Eagle owl and shooed it off, faintly irritated that Lucius would be so brazen. The Malfoy family owl was very recognizable, and the letter had been delivered at lunch, of all places. Regulus thought wryly that perhaps he had misjudged the Lucius he had known only as a first year, and later, as a Death Eater; perhaps Draco came by his dramatics naturally after all. He had heard rumors of white peacocks, but was loath to believe them.

 

Regulus was covering Lupin’s class that day, as the werewolf was currently claiming exhaustion following the full moon. Regulus had considered visiting him, but decided against it. He didn’t want any more of the pity or confusion that seemed to well up in him whenever they were near one another. He did, however, take copies of Pomfrey’s extensive notes on Lupin’s condition before and after the transformation; the potion worked to help him keep his mind, but it was inelegant and crude. From a purely scientific perspective, Regulus was interested in making improvements. The inventor of the original recipe had won a prestigious potions award. Perhaps Regulus could gain some small fame from making it better.

 

In any case, he was striding towards the classroom after lunch, scanning Lucius’s letter and trying to hold back his rising disgust. The update was essentially that there was no update at all. All the reported sightings had been false leads and no one seemed to know the next steps. Regulus felt vaguely tricked and resolved to stop taking Draco at his word. 

 

It was perhaps all these factors - the collapsed passageway, the class coverage, the letter, the strong suspicious that Lupin was still being dishonest - that led him to behave the way he did in the class. Sure, he knew the children were not due to study werewolves, and yes, Lupin’s grading marks were actually quite fair. But who could truly blame Regulus for setting homework intended to out the man? Even if he wasn’t working for Sirius, he was a distraction, and Regulus needed to be unequivocally focused on protecting Potter. 

 

Miss Granger would work out the puzzle. She was close to Potter. Perhaps she, at least, could convince the reckless boy to stay away from Lupin. 

 

The next morning, Regulus watched in horror, a slow-spreading paralysis moving through his limbs, as Harry Potter plummeted from the sky, surrounded by dementors and rain. He suddenly remembered Dumbledore saying that Lupin had a way with dark creatures. Had the werewolf used his illness as cover, and somehow led them onto the field? Regulus realized that he needed more than hope that Granger would protect Harry; he resolved to find and kill Sirius, and any accomplices, whatever the cost.

 

\---

 

His zeal was dampened somewhat by that fact that Sirius was nowhere to be found. As the weather changed from freezing rains to blinding snow, sightings of Sirius dropped off. Regulus spent his free time roaming the corridors and discovering new nooks and crannies, scratching a crude map across several pieces of parchment. He spoke delicately to his Slytherins, especially his older ones, encouraging any who might have knowledge of hidden places to speak to him. He hoped his tone was ambiguous; if Voldemort really was coming back, there was no telling what the students were hearing from their parents. He could only hope they assumed he was on whatever side they were, and would give him the leads he needed. 

 

As the term drew to a close, Regulus packed his few belongings and returned to Grimmauld Place. Despite spending most of his time at Hogwarts, the old manor felt like home. He had gradually cleared the more maudlin decor as the years went on, organizing the artifacts and books, removing the various severed body parts (why had his parents thought elf heads and troll legs made good decorations?), and updating the color palette to be a little more...subtle. Regulus was proud of the shine on the dark wood furnishings, the different shades of green, silver, and tan that ran through the house. It was almost like living in an ancient forest.

 

Regulus had a strange sense that Sirius would visit him there as Christmas drew nearer, despite his rational mind knowing how much his brother detested the house. There was no reason for him to come, but Regulus found himself dreaming of Sirius bursting into his room with a bark of laughter, shaking back his wild dark hair and clasping Regulus too hard on the shoulder. He started to wonder if staying at Hogwarts would have been a better idea after all. 

 

He awoke from one such dream with a gasp, and Kreacher was by his side in an instant with water and a cool washcloth.

 

“Did Master dream of Master’s brother, again?”

 

“Yes,” Regulus said. He realized he was shaking and took a few steadying breaths. “I can’t picture him like he is on the posters.”

 

“Disowned Master Sirius is no longer handsome,” Kreacher agreed, which was the closest he would come to saying that Sirius had once be good looking, slightly more masculine and striking than Regulus himself had ever managed. 

 

“Sometimes he looks like he did that day on the platform, when he left me behind,” Regulus whispered, and then felt an immediate rush of shame. “Of course, he had to get an education. That’s not what I meant.”

 

Kreacher merely hummed. Sometimes Regulus wondered if the house elf had ever truly been as dedicated to the Black matriarch as he had acted, or if it was merely love for Regulus himself that had kept him loyal. Kreacher had always been Regulus’s dedicated caretaker, after all. Sirius’s house elf, Anamal, had been beheaded when her services were “no longer required”, right after Sirius was blasted off the tapestry. 

 

“But Master Regulus is not forgetting what Disowned Master Sirius has done,” Kreacher reminded him. “Sirius is a bad boy. He betrayed his friends. And killed all those filthy muggles to boot.”

 

“He always acted like he was better than us,” Regulus sighed. “But he killed more muggles than me and mum combined.”

 

“Master Orion was great at a spot of muggle hunting,” Kreacher said conversationally. Regulus shuddered. 

 

“Some can produce magical children. We should remember that before we go on an uninhabited killing spree.”

 

“Yes, Master Regulus has always had such a soft heart,” Kreacher said soothingly.

 

“Kreacher,” Regulus said hesitantly. “If Sirius did want to speak to me…if he betrayed the Potters to get back in our good graces….”

 

“Kreacher could open the wards to those with Master Orion’s blood,” Kreacher said. “And what will Master Regulus do if he comes?”

 

“Kill him,” Regulus said, his voice more firm than his thoughts. Kreacher only hummed again.

 

“Would Master like a Dreamless Sleep drought?”

 

Regulus said he would and mercifully fell into a deep sleep. 

 

Kreacher opened the wards, but Christmas came and went without any word from Sirius. On Boxing Day, Regulus received three letters in a flurry, one each from Lupin, McGonagall, and Dumbledore. He opened the headmaster’s first and examined the spiky handwriting. 

 

_ Regulus, _

 

_ Harry has received a Firebolt from an unknown source for Christmas. I need not enumerate my suspicions on who I believe sent it. Please consider returning to the school post-haste. As you travel, meditate on your understanding of Sirius as a person. Minerva believes the broom is jinxed, but I believe the truth is more nuanced. Could Sirius be attempting to befriend Harry? Act as a mentor and father-figure? Would he take to being a parent if he believed he could influence the boy to Tom’s side?  _

 

_ Talk soon, _

 

_ Albus _

 

“Meditate on my understand of Sirius as a person,” Regulus scoffed, tossing the letter aside. He reached for Minerva’s next. 

 

_ Regulus, _

 

_ Sirius has sent Harry a jinxed broomstick. I’m confident it was him. We’re stripping it down now. Please return as soon as you can and assist. Perhaps you have insight into what methods he might have used to alter the broom? _

 

_ Regards, _

 

_ Minerva _

 

“ _ You  _ sent Harry an anonymous broom three years ago!” Regulus cast this letter aside as well. He reluctantly looked at Lupin’s, then opened it.

 

_ Regulus, _

 

_ I’m sure you’ve heard. Where would Sirius get the money? Can you check his vault? Goblins are telling Dumbledore they haven’t heard from him, but we know they have their own code. Perhaps your relationship with them will provide more meaningful information. _

 

_ Remus _

 

“At least that’s actionable,” Regulus mumbled. “Kreacher, bring my overcoat. We’re going to Gringotts.”

 

\---

 

Regulus strode into the bank with his head held high. Gone were the days when he would feel like an imposter entering his vault, a kid dressed up in his father’s dress robes. Regulus had been at the helm of the Black family fortune for nearly fifteen years now. 

 

Togrod, the goblin serving the Black family, immediately bowed him back into a private chamber. He glanced at Kreacher contemplatively. Kreacher had swapped out his typical garb for a pressed, emerald green shift, with the Black coat of arms embroidered along the hem. The elf stood at Regulus’s elbow attentively. 

 

Regulus knew most of the sacred families only brought their house elves out to parade their wealth; after all, house elves could be summoned and dismissed in an instant if one has too many packages. But Kreacher held a special role in Regulus’s life, and he felt that it was useful to have the elf around. 

 

“What brings you in today, Mr. Black?” Togrod asked. 

 

“I’m told the Headmaster has already contacted you,” Regulus said. “Let’s cut through the niceties. Of course you did the expected thing by revealing nothing to Dumbledore.”

 

“The headmaster did stop by,” Togrod agreed. “As his name is not on any of the accounts, we ignored his request. That man believes he is entirely entitled to the inner workings of this bank. He’s caused nothing but trouble.”

 

“The stone, I know,” Regulus commiserated. “In this instance, however, I must repeat his question. Has Sirius accessed his vault?” 

 

“Mr. Sirius Black has not been in personally,” Togrod said. “We received a fund transfer request from Mr. Sirius’s vault into the vault of Quality Quidditch Supplies. It seems they received an order form with the vault information, but the name listed on the form was Harry Potter’s.”

 

“Excellent.” Regulus said. He felt Kreacher shift at his elbow and cast him a brief, affirmative look. “So my brother is in the area, and we can confirm the broomstick is from him. Do you have the order form?”

 

“I do,” Togrod said, pulling it from among a stack of papers. Regulus examined it, casually angling it so Kreacher could read it without straining. 

 

“So he ordered it early this month. What are these markings on the edges?”

 

“Looks like an animal bite to us,” Togrod said. 

 

“Look at the dates, here,” Regulus said, looking at Togrod but speaking to Kreacher. “He filled it out the 7th but it was received the 18th. Did it come owl order?”

 

“It did,” Togrod confirmed. “The man at the shop said they were very pleased to receive an order from Harry Potter himself, but wished he would have given them more time to get it sent out.”

 

“So he must have filled it out somewhere else and then owled the form. It must have been difficult finding an owl. It’s not like he can just walk into the owl post office. I can’t explain the teeth marks, though.”

 

“Nor I,” Togrod agreed. 

 

“Thank you very much,” Regulus said, standing. Kreacher pulled his chair back lightly so Regulus could sidestep out. “If any more orders come in from my brother, please let me know before issuing the money. If you can figure out where the order originated, I have a message for him.”

 

“I would be happy to try to pass it along,” Togrod said. Regulus cast an appraising glance over him.

 

“You cannot be compelled to perjure yourself or your clients by nature of the Goblin protection laws, correct?”

 

“Of course, sir,” Togrod said. He smiled faintly, his sharp teeth glinting in the low light. “We do not recognize decrees cast down by wizarding bureaucrats.”

 

“Then, if my brother contacts, please tell him ‘Per Reg, come to Grimmauld Place.’”

 

“Of course,” the goblin said, and bowed them out of the room. 


	2. The Quidditch Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kind words, kudos, and comments. I haven't written fanfiction actively in over ten years and I have been intimidated to get back into it because of the strong social media component most fics have today. However, I'm so glad I went ahead and started this, because I've been blown away by the feedback.
> 
> I don't really know what happened this chapter...this was supposed to be part II and the end...instead we've only progressed a few months into the story and an unexpected twist took it in a direction I wasn't planning. But...I'm excited about it? So, here! Enjoy!

Regulus was just settling into his armchair for the evening, eager to relax after a stressful first week back to classes after the Christmas holiday. This fantasy was abruptly interrupted when Kreacher burst into sight with a loud “Master!” The Black heir rose immediately and knelt near his house elf. 

“What is it, Kreacher?”

“I have just seen the Potter boy going into Lupin’s quarters, alone,” Kreacher reported. “Lupin has a trunk.”

“A trunk? That’s bizarre.” Regulus was already pulling on his day robes. “Could he be trying to take Harry somewhere?”

The two of them strode out of the room, Kreacher close on Regulus’s heels. Regulus slowed as they neared, panting hard from the trek across the castle. How many minutes had passed since Kreacher had seen Potter enter the werewolf’s office. Ten? Fifteen? 

Regulus peered through the window in the door and barely stifled a gasp. There was a dementor in the room and Harry was standing, small and shivering, in front of it. The boy stumbled and fainted.

Regulus burst in before his brain had entirely comprehended the situation. The dementor was strangely fuzzy, like a mirage, and then it changed, becoming his brother. 

“Sirius!” he gasped. “You!” He pointed at Lupin. “I knew it.”

But the man was shuddering and appeared to be made a thick, solid fog. 

The figure of his brother laughed and turned to look its head to look at Lupin and Regulus in turn.

“Reg! I deflected for you, little brother,” it said in a terrible, mocking voice. “But you always thought the worst of me.”

“And you!” It reached towards Lupin. “Such a fool! How you never saw I was using you, I can’t imagine. A convenient fuck who would always stand by me. You were too blind to see the truth. You didn’t want to know!”

On the ground, Harry moaned and stirred. 

“Mama!” he called out, weakly, and his voice sounded incredibly young.

“Master Regulus!” Kreacher called. He raced in front of Regulus, who was standing frozen. “Leave us!” 

There was a powerful blast of elf magic and the boggart howled, rushing back into a nearby trunk and slamming the lid. Regulus and Lupin stared at one another, both pale and sweating. 

“I’m teaching him the patronus charm,” Lupin finally said. “You’d better go. He wouldn’t want you to see him like this.”

Regulus numbly turned and walked out, closing the door behind him. He leaned against the corridor wall, soaking in the cold of the stone, trying to think of nothing but the place his body met the wall. 

“Harry!” He heard Lupin say. “Harry...wake up…”

“I heard my dad,” Regulus heard Harry say. Regulus’s stomach clenched and he thought he might vomit. He could suddenly hear James Potter’s voice as clear as though he was standing there, see him slinging an arm around Sirius and calling him “Padfoot.”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard him - he tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for it…”

Regulus did throw up then, stumbling down the corridor to the nearest bathroom, Kreacher vanishing the evidence behind him. Regulus shook and trembled, hunched over a toilet. When he was able to do no more than dry heave, he hauled himself up and washed his shaking hands. He smoothed his hair behind his ears and took the cloth Kreacher offered him to mop his face. 

“Here, Master,” Kreacher said softly. Regulus had no words, but none were needed.

They moved back down the corridor slowly. 

“Professor Lupin?” Harry’s voice said. “If you knew my dad, you must’ve known Sirius Black as well. Professor Black’s brother?”

“What gives you that idea?” Lupin’s voice was sharp.

“Nothing - I mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts too…”

Regulus looked at Kreacher. 

“Yes, I knew him,” Lupin said, his voice slightly softer. “Or I thought I did. You’d better be off, Harry, it’s getting late.” 

Kreacher placed a hand on Regulus’s wrist and apparated them to his quarters.

“Why didn’t we think of that earlier?” Regulus groaned, falling into bed. Kreacher patted his forehead with the cloth and didn’t reply. 

\---

The unceremonious appearance of Sirius Black in boggart form stayed on Regulus’s mind as the term progressed. He was haunted by his brother’s appearance, the way he had thrown his head back and laughed with crazed delight. Regulus thought it was true joy on the part of the boggart; it was rare for a boggart to find two people with the same fear. 

Regulus thought back to the first boggart lesson in the staff room. The moon had changed, began to shift into Sirius’s haughty face. He had assumed it was Lupin’s fear feeding the change, but now that his ego had been thoroughly beat down, Regulus could admit that it was just as likely he had contributed. 

And Lupin? Regulus couldn’t comprehend his stamina. The man had blinked and breathed, settling his expression into its normal, level state and woke the boy right back up. He had faced his worst fear, his last great love, and brushed away the trauma without batting an eye. More than ever, Regulus was suspicious of the man. It seemed to Regulus that he wasn’t surprised at seeing Sirius, merely scared by the content of his words. Could Lupin be working with Sirius, but questioning his story? 

In contrast to the start of the year, Regulus began actively avoiding Lupin. He took his meals in his room, served by Kreacher. He shortened his office hours and had Hogwarts house elves deliver the wolfsbane. When the news came out that Sirius was to be given a dementor’s kiss on sight, Regulus took a personal day to mourn the boy his brother used to be.

Kreacher had gamely assigned himself to the task of observing additional dementor lessons, and he returned from these with stoic updates as though afraid of upsetting Regulus further. Harry had asked about the dementor’s kiss; Harry had progressed to a fuzzy shield and was no longer fainting.

“The werewolf knows Kreacher is there,” Kreacher said. “He speaks to Kreacher before and after Potter leaves. He asks about Master Regulus.”

“About what?”

“Master Regulus’s health. Lupin says he is worried.”

Regulus scoffed. 

“Worried about his damn potion, no doubt,” he said, but there was no strength to his words. He knew Lupin’s concern was genuine. But Regulus didn’t want to talk about their shared fear. He wanted to find Sirius and kill him, so the whole thing could be over. Death was a better fate than a dementor’s kiss, anyway. 

\---

In April, Harry performed amazingly during a Quidditch match against Ravenclaw, a feat Regulus pretended to grudgingly accept. The boy shot a fully corporeal patronus while simultaneously catching a snitch. Nevermind that the “dementors” were actually three dunderheads from Regulus’s own house, Mr. Malfoy among them; Regulus was impressed nonetheless. 

His warm feelings quickly evaporated, however. Less than twelve hours after the match, the teachers were awoken and called to the staff room. Dumbledore made a grave announcement. 

“Sirius Black has penetrated our walls yet again,” he said. Regulus felt the blood drain from his face and fought to keep his expression calm. One hand jumped to his hair, unnecessarily smoothing it behind his ear. He heard his mother’s chastising voice and lowered his hand, fighting to keep his motion casual. 

“Black was able to enter Gryffindor tower due to the exceptional stupidity of one of my students,” Minerva reported in a clipped voice. “He entered the dormitory of Harry Potter with a knife. No students were injured-” Minerva hasted to add, as gasps were emitted all around the room. “Black apparently selected the wrong bed. He was frightened off by Ronald Weasley awakening and screaming.”

Worried murmurs broke out around the group.

“How did he get into the castle in the first place?” Tiny Filius Flitwick asked. 

“We do not know at this time,” Dumbledore said. 

For the first time in several months, Regulus tried to catch Lupin’s eye. The man looked away, but when he spoke next, his tone was pointed.

“That’s twice Black has tried to enter Gryffindor tower,” Lupin said. “We should move the students or provide more security around the portrait.”

Regulus heard the implied request: put Kreacher at the portrait, instead of following Lupin. 

Kreacher agreed to be posted at the portrait hole, though he complained bitterly to Regulus about the smelly trolls hired to stand there menacingly with their clubs. Also on the daily reports were Kreacher’s observations about the Longbottom boy, the unfortunate child who had written down the passwords and lost them. Kreacher could wax poetic about the shortcomings of the nervous, stuttering boy, who was so clearly a letdown to his pureblood grandmother. Regulus, however, grew tired of hearing it. He knew Longbottom was suffering from some kind of magical obstruction, likely brought on by Regulus’s own crazed cousin. There were too many bad apples being brought to the forefront on the Black family tree, and Regulus was having a hard time managing the reminders of his childhood. 

A few weeks later, Regulus was taking advantage of a Hogsmeade weekend to search for more hidden passages. His interest in the project was renewed by Sirius’s latest actions. It was clear Sirius was getting in somehow and Regulus was determined to find out.

He came upon Harry and Longbottom, talking about vampires in front of an ugly statue of a one-eyed witch. Harry seemed bored and distracted, a sharp contrast to the last time Regulus had seen the boy on a Hogsmeade weekend. Regulus felt a stirring suspicion that Lupin had told Harry a way out, and he cast a suspicious glance at the statue. 

“Odd place to meet,” Regulus said lightly. Harry whipped around and stared at him, with the same flattened, defensive expression he always wore around Regulus. Regulus had to remind himself that Harry didn’t know that Regulus had seen him during the dementor lessons, passed out and calling for his mother. Regulus, in contrast, hadn’t been able to get that image- and his questions about Harry’s home life - out of his mind. 

“We didn’t meet here,” Harry said defensively. “We just...met here.”

“Indeed,” Regulus said, keeping his expression calm. “Trouble and rule breaking often seems to find you in unexpected places, Potter. Perhaps you should head back to your common room?”

The boys took off, Harry casting a flat look over his shoulder. Regulus made a show of placing his hands on the statue and watched Harry’s face for a reaction. Sure enough, the boy looked slightly panicked. Regulus worked for fifteen minutes before discovering there was indeed a passageway, but that it was password protected. He returned to his quarters to think about his next steps, finally settling on heading to the library to take out some of the Hogwarts architectural anthologies. 

He had hardly settled into to his books, however, when a muddy and disgruntled Draco Malfoy came bursting through the stacks.

“Mud!” Screeched the school librarian, Madam Pince. “Remove yourselves at once, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Goyle, Mr...whoever you are. Out!”

Regulus rose and swept out of the library, gesturing to Pince that he would be back for the books. Once in the hallway, he leaned over and hissed at the boys.

“What in Merlin’s name were you thinking? And what-” he leaned back, “is that smell?”

“We saw Potter in Hogsmeade!” Draco blurted. “His head, just. By the Shrieking Shack. He threw mud at us.”

Regulus gazed at them, saying nothing. The images filtered through for a moment- the three boys marching onto a field dressed as dementors, the tangle of clothes as they were charged by a large stag patronus, the inevitable mockery that must have led to Potter pitching mud at them. Nevertheless, Regulus couldn’t allow Potter to be in Hogsmeade. He was in an incredible amount of danger. 

“Go clean yourself up,” Regulus ordered shortly. “I’ll deal with Potter.”

He strode towards the one-eyed witch, certain that Potter would appear from there. And he was correct. As he rounded the corner he saw Potter, red faced, panting, and frantically wiping his hands on his clothes. 

“Potter,” Regulus said shortly. Harry stared at him. “Come with me.” He led Harry to his office and gestured for him to sit. Like any well bred pureblood, he brewed a pot of tea, allowing the silence to stretch behind him. His back to Harry, he reached out with legilimency, and received a confusing tangle of images, all which clearly belonged in Hogsmeade. 

Finally, Regulus turned and placed two tea cups on his desk. He settled behind it and simply gazed at Potter for another minute. The boy fidgeted, wiping his hands again, before picking up his tea cup. Regulus thought the action was probably just to keep his hands busy; there was a look on Harry’s face that clearly said he thought Regulus was trying to poison him. It was an ironic inverse from their earlier interaction over tea in Lupin’s office. Regulus suppressed a small smile, which seemed to alarm Harry further. 

“What do you want?” Harry finally asked, his voice a mix of bravado and defensiveness. 

“Mr. Malfoy tells me you were in Hogsmeade...throwing mud at him.”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

“Hmm. Empty your pockets, please.” 

Harry did so. Honeydukes sweets, Zonko’s prank items, and- what was that? The oldest piece of parchment Regulus had ever seen.

“Potter, you do realize that Sirius Black is after you, correct? And that everyone, from the Minister of Magic, to the Headmaster of this school, to myself, are all working overtime to protect you? Literal overtime, involving patrolling the corridors in the evenings, while you lay tucked soundly in bed?”

Harry said nothing, but Regulus saw his flat expression flicker. There was a great roar of conflict in Regulus’s mind; part of him felt disgusted at the boy’s muggle relatives, who so clearly abused and neglected him, leading to this flat, ashamed face; the other felt a great surge of anger, that Harry would circumvent that policies put in place specifically to protect him. 

“Do I know that Sirius Black, your brother, is after me? Yeah, I’ve heard. Why should I take your word on it, though?” Regulus sat back and Harry glanced at him briefly. Regulus simply shook his head. He had been anticipating this conversation. 

“You’ve been waiting to say it, haven’t you, boy? Now’s your chance.” He opened his arms widely. Harry said nothing. “No? Let’s look at these items, then.”

He dumped the honeydukes bag first. A fountain of brightly colored sweets tumbled out. 

“Ah, their chocolate is the best. I thank you.” Regulus unwrapped one and popped it in his mouth, chewing slowly. He felt bad, though, when he saw Harry’s hard eyes dim. “Have one.”

Harry glanced at him in confusion. The boy’s thoughts were as plain on his face as his glasses. Someone (not Regulus, anyone but Regulus!) needed to teach the boy occlumency. 

“I’m not cruel, Potter,” Regulus said. “Of course, they will be confiscated after we finish. So I urge you, enjoy them now.” Harry didn’t move. 

“Okay. And now the Zonkos items.” Here Regulus took more time, opening each package and commenting on the spellwork. 

“Shoddy,” Regulus said of the last item, a nose-biting teacup. He froze it with a simple spell. “That aggression charm will wear off in a few hours anyway.” 

“And this?” Regulus asked, touching one pale, thin finger to the parchment. He could feel the magic pouring off of it. 

“Just some old parchment.”

“Indeed? Then I’ll just throw it out for you, shall I?” The paper was protected by a flame resistant charm, but Potter didn’t seem to know that. 

“No!” he gasped as Regulus went to toss it in the fire, then blushed. 

“Ah,” Regulus drawled. He placed the parchment back on his desk and spread it out. With a flourish, he touched the tip of his wand to the paper. The action was a distraction- the moment Regulus spun his wand and moved towards the parchment, Potter’s head filled up with images. Spindly lines crawling across the page, dots labelled with names, a trap door opening into honeydukes - it was a map.

Regulus focused his attention on the map, ignoring the onslaught of images from Potter’s mind for a moment. He began to work on unravelling the magical layers, poking and stretching at the map’s enchantments, examining the color and tenor of each strand.

Potter gasped and Regulus’s vision cleared. There was writing moving across the map. Regulus was momentarily confused, as he had simply been exploring the magic, not deconstructing it. Then, he realized the map was writing him a message.

Mr. Prongs compels the intruder to identify himself! Who dares to attempt access to our secrets?

Mr. Padfoot agreed with Mr. Prongs and bids that you identify your intentions. For mischief or for villainy? 

Mr. Mooney reminds his friends that there is a third option - for obedience. The level of magical skill suggests a teacher enforcing the rules.

Mr. Wormtail shudders at the suggestion and eagerly awaits the intruder’s answer.

Regulus could tell by the look on Potter’s face that he had never seen the map behave this way before. Regulus himself was having trouble controlling his expression upon seeing his brother’s handwriting dash across the page. He considered identifying himself, but was worried what the imprint of his brother might say in front of Potter. 

“Potter, do you know these men?” Regulus looked at his pupil.

Harry’s eyes were wide. He seemed moved to seriousness by Regulus’s hushed tone. 

“No, sir,” Harry said, and Regulus could tell he was speaking the truth. An image of the Weasley twins handing it to him - ‘nicked it’ - floated to the forefront of Harry’s mind. 

“I do,” Regulus said shortly. “And one of these men ended up working for Voldemort. I’m afraid it may not be a coincidence this ended up in your hands.”

Potter’s face was pale. He didn’t bother to deny it further. 

“I didn’t know, sir,” he said. 

“Potter, you are thirteen. There is much you don’t know.” Regulus sighed. “I understand the lure of Hogsmeade for a child such as you, who has been kept isolated from the magical world for too long. However, these protections have been put in place for your own good. 100 points from Gryffindor, and I will be keep this.”

Potter stood without speaking. He did not even argue. He hesitated at the door, as though thinking of arguming, but then he hung his head and left the room. 

“Potter!” Regulus called. The boy turned. “Catch,” Regulus said, tossing a pack of Bertie Bott’s at him. Potter’s seeker reflexes kicked in, his right hand raising to catch the sweets automatically.

“Thank you, sir. I’m - uh - sorry.” 

Regulus sighed. As his office door was closed, he strode through to his private corridors. He tossed a pinch of floo powder into the flames and called for Lupin, who stepped through momentarily. 

“Hello, Regulus, Kreacher.”

“Potter had this,” Regulus said, thrusting the parchment into the man’s hands. His faded blue eyes widened and seemed to grow sharper. 

Well? Msrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs are waiting. 

These words dashed across the map in Sirius’s handwriting. Lupin gasped and nearly dropped it. 

“How?” he breathed. “It was confiscated by Filch right before we graduated. I never thought to check if he still had it…”

Kreacher offered them both tea. Regulus noted that Lupin’s was the biting tea cup, and surreptitiously cast anther freezing charm, just in case. Kreacher glowered at him. 

“It seems the Weasley twins took it,” Regulus informed Lupin. “You remember their uncles, Fabian and Gideon? I think they were reincarnated in those two.” 

“Yes,” Lupin said, and there was a small smile on his face despite the situation. “You know what it is?”

“A map, according to Potter’s very open mind.” 

Kreacher scoffed quietly to himself.

“Hmm,” Lupin hummed. “Perhaps, as our dementor lessons draw to a close, Harry and I should turn our attentions to occlumency.” 

“Lupin,” Regulus said shortly. “Let’s get back to the subject at hand. This map could have fallen into Sirius’s hands. Classes, sleeping, quidditch - there are numerous occasions where Potter would not have been monitoring it.”

“Not to mention the cloak,” Lupin said. The man sighed, lacing and unlacing his fingers as he thought. “Do you have anything stronger than tea?”

Kreacher nodded and bowed out, returning with a tumbler of scotch for them each. Regulus gestured to the less comfortable armchair, and Lupin sat. 

“What cloak?” Regulus asked. 

“James had an invisibility cloak. If Harry has the map, it’s not such a stretch to imagine he has the cloak as well.”

“An invisibility cloak? Used by you four twenty years ago? The demiguise fibers would be wearing thin by now.”

“Prongs’ cloak was not normal,” Lupin said. “It had been in his family for generations.”

“So Potter has been sneaking around all this time,” Regulus confirmed. “Do you think Sirius could have got his hands on this?”

“No,” Lupin said firmly. “He wouldn’t have put it back. Sirius knows every inch of this castle. The map’s value would lie elsewhere, for him…”

Regulus allowed him a moment to reminisce and then cleared his throat. 

“You mean those labelled dots I saw crawling all over Potter’s mind?”

Lupin looked at him openly. 

“Is there anything you don’t see?”

Regulus shrugged elegantly. 

“Master Regulus is very smart,” Kreacher added. Lupin smiled widely at him. 

“I agree,” he said, seemingly pleased bythe small admission Kreacher had made by speaking out of turn. It was a quiet vulnerability, a glance into Regulus’s unique dynamic with the elf. Regulus felt strangely wrongfooted. 

“I took 100 points from Potter,” Regulus said finally. “But I think you should speak to him. He respects you. And perhaps Minerva should assign a few detentions.”

“I will,” Lupin said, and his expression darkened momentarily. “May I have the map, please?”

Regulus and Kreacher made identical sounds of disbelief. 

“Of course not,” Regulus said. “You’ve done well, but the year is not over yet. I’ll believe you’re completely innocent of ill intentions when Sirius is caught and he confirms you’ve had nothing to do with it.”

Lupin shook his head and sighed, setting down his scotch. 

“Regulus, think for a moment. When Sirius declares me ‘innocent’, which he will, you will assume he is doing it out of loyalty or love or nostalgia. If you don’t believe me on your own terms, you never will.”

There was a dangerous look in his eyes, as though he was considering duelling Regulus for the parchment. Regulus reached warningly for his wand. Lupin sighed, and turned away. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Regulus,” he said. He walked from the room at a measured pace. Despite Lupin’s patched robes and badly scuffed shoes, his gait was firm. Regulus felt strangely rebuked.

\---

Not a week later, Regulus heard through the gossip mill that Hermione Granger had attacked Mr. Malfoy “the Muggle way”, before spectacularly unenrolling from Sybill Trelawney’s divination class. Regulus found the whole thing entirely amusing. The best part was that Malfoy would be unlikely to come complaining to Regulus about it, given that the entire event made him look like an exceptionally poor wizard. 

Regulus nursed this small image of hilarity through the Easter Holidays, a momentary boost when he needed a break from his brooding. He returned to Grimmauld place for the week, still holding out some small hope that Sirius would return there. Togrod assured him that there had been no more transactions made from Sirius’s account, but Regulus nevertheless spent the week flinching at every creak the old house made. As the break drew to a close, he reluctantly returned to Hogwarts, bereft of any new information regarding Sirius’s whereabouts. 

As exams and the quidditch finale drew nearer, the tense atmosphere in the castle grew palpable. Regulus barely stopped several of his Slytherins from casting nasty and all-together too public curses on the Gryffindor quidditch team. After the fourth foiled attempt and the second that slipped through, Regulus made an unannounced visit to the common rooms just as curfew fell. 

“Professor Black, sir!” Cassius Warrington said as he entered. Around the room, heads popped up from where they had been bowed in conversation or over notes. Some students were studying for the upcoming exams, noticeably his fifth and seventh years, but many of the students were clustered in small groups, speaking in low undertones. Regulus surveyed them with a small smile. He recognized plotting when he saw it, and his Slytherins were almost always plotting. Trading secrets, information, connections, and resources was what Slytherins did best. 

“Everyone to me, please,” Regulus said evenly. He walked towards the fireplace, gesturing with his wand and non-verbally kindling the fire. Several seventh year Slytherins were situated in the best couches near the fire, lounging against the warmed leather. They stood smoothly and cleared their books, gesturing for Regulus to sit.

“Is everyone here?” Regulus waited for a few moments as the students looked around, murmuring softly in agreement. It wasn’t often that Regulus visited the common room, but he tried to make an appearance every few months. His students were used to receiving feedback on their decorum at home, and Regulus believed that, though they were older, they still found solace in guidance. They needed an example of class and grace; since Voldemort’s downfall, Slytherins had found themselves the scapegoats of the war, increasingly isolated and blamed. The older generation dug into their ideologies more than ever, while their more impulsive offspring became violent and angry in response. 

“I know you want to win this Quidditch game,” Regulus said without preamble. “I know you’ve heard the comments in the corridor. Seventy-five percent of this school is rooting against us. Last year, we had the victory snatched from our hands due to tragedies outside of our control- but we were blamed for those as well. Two years ago, we won the quidditch cup and should have won the house cup, only to have our victory cruelly yanked away from us at our own celebration.”

His students nodded. Those who remembered this particular slight frowned darkly. One or two muttered under their breath. Crabbe even cracked his knuckles. 

“Let me make this clear,” Regulus said. The students quieted. “None of that matters.”

There was a stunned silence. Marcus Flint, who played captain, gaped at him openly. Finally, the boy cleared his throat. 

“Sir?” 

Regulus smiled. A few years ago, the boy would have brashly declared the superiority of the Slytherins and their right to do whatever it took to prove their position.

“I will explain. It is true, we have been treated unfairly. We have been outcasted, ostracized, and stereotyped. But in the real world, beyond these castle walls, jinxing people for personal or political gain is illegal. It’s also extremely distasteful and inefficient. It’s short term gain at the expense of long-term strategy.

“In this house, we get our way. We do what needs to be done to meet our ends. You have been told this is a bad thing, and so you have reacted with posturing. All that does is confirm their worst suspicions about us.

“Slytherins do not jinx; we demonstrate our strong magical capabilities frequently, so we need merely reach for our wands to be intimidating.” Regulus demonstrated, letting his hand stray almost lazily towards his pocket. “We do not blackmail; we delicately remind those around us of all the sensitive information we are privy to. We do not shout slurs; we show our superiority by consistently outperforming others, with ease and without complaints.

“When you attack in the corridors, you tell the rest of the school that you don’t think you can win without cheating. You tell them that you don’t believe in our own capabilities. Students, tell me now if you don’t believe in this house, so that I can see how I have failed you.”

Regulus paused then, leaning back against the dark leather and casually crossing one leg over the other. He let his gaze drift over the students, before settling his eyes on the tapestries around the room. They depicted Slytherin himself and many prominent Slytherins since. There was a subtle kind of magic within each, an artistry rarely reached by most. The magic could be felt by touching them, working simultaneously to give life to the figures woven there, while constantly updating the colors of the threads as the figures moved gracefully across them. Each thread was like a miniature Slytherin, in a way, pulling and manipulating the threads around it. 

“We understand, sir,” Flint said finally. He stood and faced the group. “Any Slytherin who has been jinxing and threatening was mistaken. That was never the goal of the Quidditch team. Such behavior makes fools of ourselves, of our Head of House, and of the Slytherin name.”

As Marcus Flint had been primarily responsible for the planning and execution of said attacks, this remark was a skillful bit of pivoting that Regulus admired. The boy was polishing up nicely from his former self. 

“Of course,” Regulus said, standing. His student rose as one, respectfully. “I would never have believed the nasty rumors of wrongdoings, obviously, but it is my duty as head of house to make sure.” He gave a sigh to show how little confidence he placed in the gossip. The students straightened their shoulders and smiled calmly, mimicking his relaxed stance. “Happy studying,” Regulus said, stepping out the hidden door and into the corridors. 

As he returned to his chambers, he allowed his own shoulders to droop slightly and tucked his hair behind his ear. Kreacher pressed a goblet of wine into his hands and patted his elbow sympathetically. Regulus sighed again, a real one this time, and drank deeply. 

“That’s one problem solved,” he told Kreacher. “If only the Sirius one could be wrapped up as easily.”

\---

Lupin came by several times over the next few weeks, imploring Regulus to give him the map. Regulus, meanwhile, stubbornly refused to be flexible. Kreacher watched their mounting exchanges with quiet delight, enjoying watching his master outwit the other man’s arguments.

“I’ll figure out how to open it by myself,” Regulus told him. “I’m an extremely accomplished curse breaker.”

“It’s not cursed!” The werewolf told him. “It’s charmed with several layers of extremely complicated magic and I’d rather you not destroy it.”

This was the most passion Regulus had seen out of the man, and a small part of him was enjoying holding it over his head. A larger part was alarmed by Lupin’s insistence, which seemed to him to be proof of Lupin’s intention to do something suspicious. 

“If Sirius is here, the map will show him,” Lupin informed him. “Please, let me open it. All you need to do is tap it with your wand and say-”

“Stop!” Regulus held up one hand. Kreacher, anticipating this, distracted Lupin with a cup of tea shoved into his hands.

“Regulus, why?” Lupin implored, hastening to catch the cup and wiping the spills onto his robe. “Why? Do you think I’m going to tell you wrong and cause it to self-destruct- you do!” Lupin gestured accusingly, the tea slopping over the sides of the cup again. Regulus worked to control his expression as Kreacher patted the man’s robes with a handkerchief. 

“Don’t be dramatic, Lupin. You read too many muggle novels.”

“So what is it, Regulus? Thank you, Kreacher.”

The truth was that Regulus had already figured out how to open the map and had seen nothing useful on it. Sirius didn’t seem to be lurking inside the school, and though the map had revealed several passageways Regulus hadn’t known about, he had investigated them and found nothing useful. Regulus was finding the map very useful in monitoring his students and co-workers, and he was loathe to give up the advantage. 

He found himself watching Lupin frequently. The man was prone to pacing his office or standing still at windows. Lupin had assigned Potter weekly detentions and seemed to spend these times coaching Harry, growing their lessons beyond the Patronus Charm. During these detentions, Kreacher popped by Lupin’s office, but he never returned with any news of interest. Potter seemed to enjoy Lupin’s company and had even ceased asking about his parents, let alone Sirius. 

“I still don’t trust you,” Regulus said half-truthfully. Lupin sighed and turned to go. 

“Consider it, please, Regulus,” he said as he paused in the doorframe. “I’ve been nothing but helpful.”

“As have I,” Regulus said lightly. “Your potion is coming along nicely, by the way. I’ve made a small alteration that should allow you to retain more of your strength.”

It was a quiet reminder that Lupin relied on Regulus. The man sighed and ran a hand through his sandy hair, the grey strands glinting in the low light from the torches lining the dungeon walls. 

“Thank you,” he told Regulus quietly and then left. 

\---

The morning of the Quidditch final, Regulus was lazily browsing the map while eating his eggs and bacon in his chambers. He prefered to eat bacon in his room- it was a secret pleasure that he found hard to make look graceful in front of others. The map was stretched across his desk as he chewed, his eyes sweeping across it as he confirmed the location of various people of interest; his team, the Gryffindor team, the Gryffindor seeker, the Gryffindor seeker’s canine confidante…

Regulus spit out his bacon and choked as he caught sight of a name on the edge of the map. 

Sirius Black. 

“Master!” Kreacher said, pounding on Regulus’s back as he coughed. His eyes streamed, but he dared not remove them from the name. 

“There!” he told Kreacher, pointing to the labelled dot. Kreacher gasped. 

“The ungrateful Sirius! Kreacher must go, now!”

Kreacher popped out of his presence before Regulus could reply. Regulus half-stood, torn between racing out to the grounds himself and watching the map. He noticed that Kreacher didn’t appear on it, but the dot that represented Sirius suddenly turned and fled off the map’s boundaries, straight into the forbidden forest. 

“The forest!” Regulus murmured. He was still half-crouched, thoughts racing as he decided on his next course of action. Follow his brother, alert Dumbledore, tell Lupin?

There was a pop and Kreacher reappeared. 

“Master! Kreacher could not see the disowned Master Sirius, but Kreacher did see a large black animal and a small orange cat that ran into the woods.”

Regulus’s first thought was ‘he’s in the woods.’ As his brain caught up with his ears, however, he paused. 

“A large black animal? Are you sure?”

“Yes, Kreacher is sure, with pale eyes. And an orange cat.”

Padfoot.

It was as though a confusing series of images that had been swirling in a pensieve suddenly settled. Msrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. Sirius laughing and shaking back his dark hair, clasping James on the back and making a joke about Lupin’s furry little problem. His dear friend Severus, setting off down a dark and crumbling passage of dirt, straight into the den of a werewolf, and a fearless James Potter pulling him back out as though unafraid for his own life…Harry’s impressive corporeal patronus, a stag, shooting across the Quidditch pitch at false dementors...

Padfoot. 

“He’s an animagus,” Regulus breathed. Kreacher watched him intently. 

Before Regulus could decide what to do, there was a knock at his chamber door. 

“Sir?” Marcus Flint called. 

“The match,” Regulus remembered. He thrust the door open and tried to appear calm.

“Sir, the match is starting soon. The team...the whole house...we really want you to be there to see us.”

Regulus nodded. 

“Give me a minute, Flint,” he said. He closed the door partially and looked at Kreacher.

“Tell Lupin,” he whispered. “And tell him…” The threat died on his tongue. Flint was surely listening closely, and the match would begin shortly. “Just tell him to patrol the forest.”

Regulus found it hard to focus on the Quidditch game. Having abandoned their bullying and fouling tactics, his Slytherins had instead adopted a fearsome technique of swooping together as one, almost like large bird of prey. Regulus kept his wand loosely held in his hand, scanning the stands and entries into the stadium. Lupin was nowhere to be found, and Regulus wondered briefly if the man would have fled by the time the match was over. 

Why hadn’t Lupin told Regulus that Sirius was an animagus? Why hadn’t he revealed the remaining secret passageways? And how could Regulus have been so stupid as to forget that the passageway under the Whomping Willow led to Lupin’s old den? 

Regulus was distracted from his searching when a cheer rose up from the crowd and everyone stood. Regulus rose swiftly, cast a quick glance at the entrances, and then focused his attention on the match. Draco was speeding across the pitch, laid nearly flat against his broom, with Harry close behind. Harry’s broom was faster and his movements more instinctual; the boy stretched across his broom and leaned to the side, embracing it. The Firebolt spiralled slightly, looping below and around Draco, blocking the blonde boy’s outstretched hand. Harry’s hand closed on the ball and he pulled out of his spiral triumphantly, hand held high, surrounded by cheers and screams and his crying teammates. 

Regulus stepped firmly onto the stairs, descending from the stands swiftly and racing onto the field. His eyes scanned the edges as he approached the mass of brooms being guided to the field, watching for any flash of fur, orange or black. He clapped his Slytherin’s on the shoulder as they landed, looking disappointed.

“You did wonderfully,” he told them, aware that his wandering eyes may be telling a different story. He made an effort to meet their gaze. “You may have lost this game, but you gained something more important.” 

The team shrugged and muttered. 

“Put your heads up,” Regulus told him. “Marcus, tell Wood it was a good game. Shake his hand and walk off with your shoulders back, heads high. Then go straight to the common room, don’t linger.”

Who could predict what Sirius would do to get to Harry? He had never cared for Slytherins and Regulus doubted working for Voldemort and going to Azkaban had changed that. 

Should Regulus tell Dumbledore what he had learned? He had a flash of Severus, shaking and sweating in an empty dungeon classroom, whispering to Regulus that Sirius had nearly killed him, but that Dumbledore hadn’t expelled him. He had shuddered as he tried to explain to Regulus the horror he had seen, the glint of sharp teeth, the howl that had echoed through the chamber. It was one of the few times Regulus had seen the boy show vulnerability, and the memory had never left him.

Regulus made up his mind instantly. Dumbledore did not have everyone’s best interest at heart, and certainly not the Slytherin students’. 

He watched his Slytherin’s file into the castle, keeping count as they walked. Once he was sure they were in place, he visited Minerva. 

“Good game,” he said, shaking her hand and placing a clinking bag of coins on her desk. “You deserve this.”

“Thank you, Regulus,” she said, her tartan hat eschew and her smile rather wider than usual. “Your team played well.”

“Yes,” Regulus brushed her off. “Listen, keep an extra close eye on Harry tonight, would you? Sirius has attacked during important events twice this year- Halloween and the last Quidditch game. The adrenalin must attract him. Are those trolls still stationed at the portrait?”

“Well, yes,” Minerva said, her smile faltering. “But Regulus, we’ve heard nothing from Sirius in months.” She looked at him suspiciously. “Do you know something?”

“Just a feeling, Minerva,” Regulus told her, his tone somewhat cold. “Incidentally, have you seen Lupin? I need to speak with him about his potion.”

“Yes, I saw him heading towards his office. He looked ragged, it’s good you’re visiting him.”

“Hmph,” Regulus said. “Visit sounds much more friendly than this will be. It’s purely business.”

“Yes,” Minerva said, her knowing smile back. 

Regulus stood and excused himself, striding off towards Lupin’s office. He wanted desperately to consult the map folded in his pocket, but the questions he had for Lupin were burning in his mind. He burst into the office without knocking, only to stop short in disbelief.

Lupin was bloody and scratched, sitting slumped in his desk chair with his head hung low. Kreacher was dabbing gently at the cuts with a bloody rag, a small basin of bloody water at his side. Lupin looked up as the door slammed open and Regulus felt pinned by his defeated gaze. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than ever, highlighted by pink rims. Regulus was shocked to realize he had been crying.

“Kreacher?” Regulus asked gently. 

“The Professor Lupin is injured,” Kreacher said, his raspy voice unusually quiet. Regulus shut the office door and locked it behind him with a wave of his wand. 

“What happened Lupin?” Regulus asked, casting a diagnostics spell. The man had several surface cuts, a twisted ankle, and a nasty bite festering on one ankle. 

“I nearly caught him,” Lupin said, his voice tired but level. “I smelled him, pursued him through the forest. He’s faster than me as a dog, but with Kreacher’s help I was almost able to catch up to him.” Here he paused and smiled kindly at the old elf, who looked away uncomfortably. “He led us to the acromantulas- my scent made them restless. One swiped at me and pinched. Kreacher grabbed me and brought me back to the forest edge.”

Regulus looked at Kreacher for confirmation. The elf nodded and frowned. 

Regulus dropped into a chair, tucking his hair behind his ears nervously. He felt wrong-footed. Could the other man be telling the truth? Did he really put himself in harm’s way to pursue Sirius, did Sirius really lead him to almost certain death? Was it possibly the werewolf really wanted Sirius captured as much as Regulus did?

“Lupin,” Regulus finally said gruffly. “Why didn’t you tell me he was an animagi? He’s probably been in the forest this whole time.”

“Because, Regulus,” Lupin sighed. “I don’t trust you.”

He ran his hands through his hair and turned his tired blue eyes on Regulus, pinning him with a naked stare.

“I know,” Lupin said softly. “I know you visited him right before he escaped.”


	3. The Shrieking Shack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thank you for returning! I want to say again how pleased and grateful I am for all the reviews, follows, and kudos! You guys are the best and you're keeping me motivated. 
> 
> This chapter was a struggle - I didn't want to retread too much of the same old conversation in the Shrieking Shack as the book, but I did want to cover everything so that, at least from Harry's point of view, all the relevant questions were answered. Hopefully, what I came up with is still fun and interesting to read!

_ “I know,” Lupin said softly. “I know you visited him right before he escaped.” _

 

Regulus pivoted on his heel without fully considering it, stalking from the office and calling out for Kreacher to follow him. He glanced over his shoulder, only to see Kreacher standing frozen. The elf’s eyes widened and he shook himself visibly, before darting after his Master. Regulus was ashamed to see Kreacher’s reaction and became hesitant in turn. The professor sighed and turned back around fully, reentering the office.

 

“Fine,” Regulus said. He cast two charms in  quick succession, locking the door and containing their voices. “It’s true. I visited Sirius.”

 

“Master Regulus! Kreacher was not to be knowing about this.” Kreacher said, his bloodshot eyes wide and his tone a little hurt. 

 

“I’m sorry, Kreacher,” Regulus said. “I was ashamed. And I have been, ever since.”

 

Regulus looked at Lupin. The man was still sitting, and he was gazing at Regulus with a knowing look in his eyes and the glimmer of an acceptant smile on his lips. 

 

“Sit down, please, Regulus,” Lupin invited, as though they were meeting for afternoon tea. 

 

Regulus sat reluctantly and tried to look more confident than he felt. He took a deep breath and dropped his shoulders, smoothing his expression and tilting his chin up just slightly. He planted both feet firmly on the ground and looked at Lupin.

 

“I visited Sirius one time in thirteen years,” Regulus said. “I hardly think that merits keeping this sort of information from me.”

 

“And when should I have told you, Regulus?” Lupin said, his voice finally exposing a little impatience. “When you had Kreacher following me? When you repeatedly blamed me for Sirius entering the school? When you assigned my students an essay you hoped would expose me?”

 

Regulus frowned and said nothing. A litany rebuttals were on his tongue-  _ when I improved your potion; when we agreed to work together before Halloween; when we both saw Sirius as a boggart _ \- but his upbringing discouraged him from becoming defending himself too vehemently.  _ Don’t validate it with an answer,  _ his father’s voice reminded him.  _ You don’t owe that half-breed anything, _ his mother’s voice added. 

 

It didn’t help that he saw Lupin’s point. 

 

“Lupin,” he said. “How did you know?”

 

The man gazed at him for a minute, head tilted back. “I can see you’re shaken. Since I’m unlikely to get a real answer from you until you’re at ease, I will show you how I know.”

 

Lupin attempted to stand shakily. Kreacher came to his side, glancing hesitantly at Regulus. Regulus nodded, and Kreacher offered a skinny arm for Lupin to grasp. Lupin moved into his quarters at a pace that felt impossibly slow to Regulus, though he continued to sit straight and maintain his composure. When Lupin returned, he had a piece of parchment grasped in his hand. Regulus felt a swooping sensation in his stomach. 

 

“Ah,” he said. 

 

“Ah,” Lupin confirmed. He opened the parchment and began to read. 

 

_ “Dear Remus, _

 

_ I’m so sorry. I want you to know that I can explain everything, but I don’t expect you to forgive me. Please visit. I still love you. I always have. Reg is helping me- can you believe it? I can explain everything. I still love you. Reg is here. Regulus! Can you believe it?  _

 

_ Yours, _

_ Padfoot.” _

 

Regulus stared at Lupin impassively. 

 

“That does sound bad,” he finally said. Lupin snorted.

 

“Your behavior this year has been nothing but suspicious towards me and antagonistic towards your brother,” the other professor admitted. “But I couldn’t help but think...you were once on Voldemort’s side, Regulus. Dumbledore trusts that you’ve changed your ways, for some reason he’s unwilling to disclose, but...Sirius is your brother. And you did grow up believing Voldemort was in the right. So, I put two and two together, and assumed you must have helped him escape, seeing as how he finally did something to make your family proud by betraying James and killing those muggles.”

 

Kreacher pushed a cup of steaming tea into Regulus’s hands, then returned to Lupin’s side hesitantly and held out another. The elf hovered between the two of them, Lupin leaning heavily against the chair, Regulus frozen in his.

 

“It’s true that I visited him,” Regulus said finally. “After the incident with the Chamber of Secrets last year, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. The terror that we all felt, all over the castle...it reminded me of my last few years here. 

 

“We were powerful...we felt justified...I truly believed muggleborns were erasing pureblood culture, eradicating our traditions. I never had a heart for the nastier stuff, but we were all drunk off the power we felt. That kind of chaotic joy is catching. I saw it starting in my students last year. And I remembered you three- James, you, and  _ Sirius _ \- and you had the same energy, but you put it towards stopping us. 

 

“I started to understand, for the first time, how Sirius could have switched...how that chaotic feeling could be directed elsewhere, how it could be twisted. I thought he must have finally had a falling out with you and the Potters. Something had to happen to make him want to get back in with the family. 

 

“Then I thought, what if it was planned? That the Dark Lord would fall that night...what if Sirius had taken a bet and it had worked?

 

“I remembered how he sent Severus into the wolf’s den- your den- without asking you how you felt about being a weapon. And I wondered if he had made the same choice for James.”

 

There was a long silence. Regulus gazed out the window of Lupin’s office, taking in the inky black sky and the scattering of stars. He could see the dogstar from here, and the irony felt oppressive. Would he ever be free of his brother’s dramatics? 

 

“So you went to Azkaban to find out the truth,” Lupin prompted. He sat down slowly, nursing his wounds. “But Sirius’s letter makes it sound like you helped him to escape.”

 

“His letter sounds like he’s going mad,” Regulus pointed out.

 

“He hadn’t written anything in twelve years,” Lupin protested. “Nevertheless, he said you were there, and you have confirmed this. So how did you help him, if not by helping him find a way out?”

 

“By giving him the parchment,” Regulus said. “I thought it was harmless enough. I questioned him, he laughed. He told me I was seeing the wrong side of things, as usual.” Regulus shook his head. “More than a dozen years and a cell between us, and he was still ribbing me like we were children.”

 

“It scared me how normal he seemed. He said he was innocent, but that he deserved what he got anyway. He said he only knew one person who would understand. I knew he meant you. He asked me to transfigure the bones from his last meal into writing supplies. I told him ‘you’ll never get an owl here’ and he just laughed.

 

“It was two weeks later that he escaped,” Regulus sighed. “I thought, ‘he’s done it. He’s convinced Lupin and now he’s out.’ When Dumbledore told me you were going to work here, I knew I had to do everything in my power to protect Harry. I felt...responsible for Sirius getting in contact with you and escaping.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell Dumbledore?” Lupin asked. 

 

Regulus gazed at a crease in his robe that needed to be ironed a little more carefully. 

 

“I am ashamed,” he said finally. “I wanted to fix the problem rather than admitting it.”

 

Regulus looked up from his knees, tilting his chin up in automatic defiance, loathe to admit this failure. Lupin looked tired and understanding. He stood slowly and approached Regulus. 

 

“Allies?” he asked, extending a hand. “Again?” 

 

Regulus shook his head ruefully. 

 

“Yes,” he agreed. “You have proved yourself time and time again. I have been too stubborn.”

 

“I’m used to stubborn,” Lupin said with a smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He gestured with his head towards the door to his living quarters, and Regulus realized with a start how late it must be.

 

“Absolutely,” Regulus agreed. “And Lupin? Feel better.”

 

\---

 

The next month passed in a whirlwind of revisions, study sessions, and stress. Lupin and Regulus worked out a system, transferring the map to one another as they passed in the corridors, ensuring it was always being watched. When both of them were in class, which happened more often than not, Kreacher poured over the map. Now that they knew Sirius was seeking shelter in the forest, beyond the map’s boundaries, they dedicated hours each day to watching the perimeter, expecting him to reappear. He seemed to be avoiding them, however; they only saw his name a few times over the next month, and never long enough for them to catch him. 

 

Meanwhile, their students were demanding more and more of their time as exams approached. The fifth and seventh years were particularly voracious. Some of the more emotive students had become prone to fits of hysteria as they struggled to retain years of information. Several of Regulus’s Slytherin students had come to him with the trembles, whispering their fears of performing poorly and reflecting badly on their families. Regulus had assured them that it was more important to perform very well in some areas than mediocre in others. He had dropped a few well placed (and mostly true) anecdotes about the abysmal O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. scores of some prominent leaders of the day, drawing reluctant smiles from most of them. When that didn’t work, Regulus had made a few pointed promises to personally visit the student’s families when the scores were owled out. 

 

“I know the particular kind of...pressure...pureblood families can put on their children,” he told Olene Selwyn, a willowy seventh year who had always struck him as exceptionally secretive. “When I visit, I’ll bring a letter of interest from the Department of Magical Creatures. You have my word, your parents won’t think of questioning your herbology score when I arrive with that in hand.” 

 

Olene smile was reserved and her eyes betrayed her disbelief, but her shaking had slowed at least. 

 

“Thank you, sir,” Olene said. “Do you really think…?”

 

“You’ve practically been running Hagrid’s 5th and 7th year classes since the hippogriff incident,” Regulus said firmly. “There’s no one else I would consider recommending.”

 

“Thank you,” she said again, a small smile sneaking out. She bit her bottom lip and pulled the corners of her mouth down, smoothing her expression.

 

Regulus saw her to the door, closed it behind her, and leaned against it with a sigh. He vividly remembered the pressure he had felt during his own N.E.W.T.s- worsened by the fact that  _ his  _ parents had only cared about the scores to the extent that his skills and job placement could support Voldemort. The Blacks had already been openly supporting the genocide, despite the more reserved, behind-the-scenes assistance that most other pureblood families were providing. Regulus had joined Voldemort the minute his scores had been released. 

 

Kreacher brought Regulus a mug of tea, which smelled strongly of gin. Regulus smiled and followed him back into their private quarters. 

 

“Any sightings?” he asked Kreacher, leaning over his desk where the map lay spread. 

 

“None,” Kreacher sighed. “Kreacher thought the disowned Master Sirius would take advantage of the chaos, sneaky brat that he always was, but Kreacher has not seen him.”

 

Regulus did a quick scan around the edges before moving his gaze to the center. He unfolded and folded the layers, checking each story of the castle, but he saw nothing amiss. Lupin had carefully altered the magic making up the map so that Sirius’s dot would appear in red. He was jealously guarding how he had done so, saying that, regardless of what Sirius had become, the map was a labor of love and shouldn’t be messed with by any but an original creator. 

 

“Well, exams start tomorrow,” Regulus reminded Kreacher unnecessarily. “He still has time.”

 

Regulus passed the map to a harried looking Lupin the following morning over breakfast. He also slid a steaming goblet across the high table, taking in the circles under the man’s eyes critically. 

 

“I’ve made some more adjustments to that,” Regulus muttered to Lupin, keeping his eyes facing outwards, scanning the students. “You’ll need to make sure you take two doses  _ every day _ this week- it’s not a matter of just finishing the cauldron before Thursday night. Two doses  _ every day _ .”

 

“And if I miss?” Lupin said back, his eyes likewise turned to the students and his voice low. “It’s not exactly the best week for experimenting.”

 

“You may have some control, but much less than usual,” Regulus said back. “Weasley! Put that firecracker back in your bag or so help me, I will visit your mother personally!”

 

One of the Weasley twins jumped and quickly withdrew their hand from Marcus Flint’s bag. 

 

“I’ll just take that, shall I Fred?” Lupin called, summoning the firecracker to him. Out of the corner of his mouth, he muttered, “And if I take it exactly as prescribed?”

 

“You’ll keep your head and hopefully your health,” Regulus promised. “You should be fine to do the Friday exams, as promised.”

 

“Thank you, truly,” Lupin said. “I’ve got the map this period, but I’ll need the next to prepare my hinkypunk. Can Kreacher take it?”

 

“Certainly,” Regulus said. He raised a glass in solute. “Bottoms up.”

 

They clinked mugs and Lupin drank deeply. Regulus felt an unwelcome probing in his mind and met Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes. The potions professor made a show of glowering at the Headmaster, bringing an image of his reluctant relationship with Lupin to the forefront of his mind. A few tweaks and omissions and Albus would conclude they had bonded over the improvement of the potion and the bratty students, hopefully obscuring the true reason.

 

The next several days passed without incident. Kreacher was left in charge of the map more often than not, as Regulus and Lupin administered and graded tests. Regulus had Harry Tuesday afternoon and was pleased to see that the boy wasn’t allowing the stress about Black to impact his test results. Harry was more than passable at potions, though he didn’t have the passion for it his mother had shown in her days. Harry rarely experimented but managed each step carefully, for a solid, correct result each time.

 

“Accurate work, Potter,” Regulus said to him quietly as Harry brought the stoppered potion to the front of the room. Regulus was just wrapping up grading the written portion and knew that Harry had performed admirably there as well. “Did you do a lot of cooking before you came to Hogwarts?”

 

Harry gazed at him, his flat expression flickering for a moment. Since their conversation about the map, Harry had been more skittish than ever around Regulus, as though unsure how to navigate their new dynamic. 

 

“Yeah, I did,” the boy said finally. “Aunt Petunia made me cook most of the time.”

 

Regulus glanced at the boy’s skinny frame and took note of his reluctance to speak of it. 

 

“Your care in following directions and measuring ingredients is noticeable in your work,” Regulus said finally. “You may be dismissed.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said.

 

\---

 

It was a relief when Thursday night finally fell. Lupin and Regulus were both looking a little too worn for comfort, and Regulus couldn’t quite keep up his normal, unflappable facade as Lupin came for the last dose of his potion. Kreacher closed the door the behind the professor and Regulus didn’t even look up from where he was slumped over the map as he gestured widely to the cauldron. Lupin scooped the last bit into his goblet and came to sit by Regulus. 

 

“Almost over,” the man said conversationally. 

 

“Nearly,” Regulus agreed. He allowed himself to fall back into his chair, legs and arms slack. “You realize we’ll have to put a watch on Harry all summer, and spend every day tracking Sirius through that blasted forest until he’s caught, right? It won’t be truly over until then.” 

 

“Hmm,” Lupin replied, leaning over the map. “I have a sneaking suspicion Harry will be out tonight. Hagrid’s hippogriff was sentenced to death, did you hear?”

 

“Did I?” Regulus scoffed. “Malfoy’s been preening about it all day. If he had feathers, he’d be molting in happiness. And after my conversation with him about being subtle, as well.” Regulus rubbed his temples and raked a hand through his hair, tucking it behind his ears. 

 

“Hmm,” Lupin said again. “Looks like you’re ready for a haircut. In any case, I think Lucius is driving this one, and you can’t hardly expect to have more influence on Draco than his father.”

 

“Humph,” Regulus said, choosing to ignore the haircut comment. “There’s our boy,” he said instead, pointing out Harry’s dot moving through the entrance hall, clustered closely with Ron and Hermione.

 

They watched in silence, Lupin sipping his drink, as the trio approached Hagrid’s hut. They disappeared at the door. A dot labelled “Buckbeak” paced at the back of the house in agitation. 

 

“Why doesn’t it show who’s in Hagrid’s house?” Regulus said, a small note of complaint in his voice.

 

“We measured and mapped every room in here by hand,” Lupin said proudly. “That’s why it doesn't show the Room of Requirement either. Plus, we didn’t know him well. He thought our jokes were funny, but we were never close enough to have an excuse to go in. Peter could have slipped in, but he had a huge kneazle in those days. Plus, Pete couldn’t do the plotting spells on his own. We considered having Padfoot befriend him, but we didn’t get around to it before the map was confiscated.”

 

They gazed at the map for a few more minutes, watching as Dumbledore, Fudge, and McNair approached and entered Hagrid’s cabin. Suddenly, Lupin twitched violently, nearly spilling his drink and sputtering as he choked on it. 

 

“Watch it!” Regulus snapped, grabbing the goblet and righting it.

 

Lupin gestured forcefully with his finger, jabbing the map as he coughed. 

 

“Peter!” he said. 

 

“ _ What?”  _ Regulus and Kreacher said as one. Regulus looked where Lupin was pointing with a dawning horror.

 

Where there had once three dots, there were now four. One of them was labelled “Peter Pettigrew.”

 

Regulus and Lupin shared one searing glance before they both leapt to their feet. 

 

“Ron has a pet rat,” Lupin gasped. 

 

“Finish your potion!” Regulus snapped, snatching the goblet and pressing it into the man’s hands. Lupin gulped quickly. 

 

“Master!” Kreacher said. “Sirius is here! He has collided with the Weasley boy, he is pulling him towards the Whomping Willow.”

 

“Fuck!’ Regulus said. “Lupin, there’s less than two hours until night fall-”

 

“I’m coming!” Lupin said, and his voice was the closest to a growl Regulus had ever heard. “Kreacher, watch for us to come out of tree. When we do, get Dumbledore,  _ but not the minister. _ ”

 

Kreacher glanced at Regulus for confirmation, but he was feeling extremely wrongfooted and foggy headed. 

 

“I’ve finished it, come on Regulus!” Lupin snapped, grabbing Regulus’s arm as he rushed out of the room. Regulus stumbled after him and they quickly sped up to a jog, then a sprint, pounding up the stairs and out the front double doors. They raced across the lawn. Regulus could hear Hagrid howling and McNair shouting, but there was no part of him that thought it was the right time to get the ministry involved. 

 

Lupin threw himself onto his belly as they approached the wildly thrashing tree, shimmying towards its trunk and slamming a hand down on a knot near the base. Regulus hardly had time to register his shock at seeing the normally careful man move with such agility, because Lupin was disappearing into a gap in the roots. Regulus dove after him and the two stumbled down a crumbling passageway. 

 

Regulus found that he was gasping, a sharp stitch in his side making it difficult to breath in. The passage smelled of rich, wet soil and narrowed and widened unpredictably. In some areas, the two men had to nearly double over, while in others they were able to run side by side. Regulus thought suddenly of Severus, creeping through the passageway twenty years before, and his heart sped even faster. 

 

The earthen floor finally began to rise and the two men emerged into the Shrieking Shack. Regulus couldn’t stop his gasp as his eyes adjusted. Huge chunks were torn out of the furniture, blood splattered the wall, and small bones littered the floor. Even Lupin pulled up short, grimacing. Regulus watched as his face twisted in anguish as he faltered. Then, in that impeccable way of his, he shook his head, breathed in deep, and smoothed his face. 

 

“WE’RE UP HERE!” A scream suddenly echoed through the building. “WE’RE UP HERE- SIRIUS BLACK- QUICK!”

 

The two men glanced at one another before thundering up the stairs. Lupin turned immediately into first room at the top of the stairs, and Regulus blasted it open so the man could move in unimpeded. Regulus spotted Harry, a wand to Sirius’s sunken chest, Hermione, fingers brought to her mouth as she chewed her nails in a panic, and Ron, lying on the bed with his leg bent at an unnatural angle. There was an ugly orange cat perched on Sirius’s chest. 

 

“Expelliarmus!” Lupin roared, summoning three wands to him. 

 

“Accio!” Regulus cried at the same time, casting the spell at Ron and holding an image of the boy’s rat in his mind. 

 

“Incarcerous!” The two professors cried together. The rat and Sirius were immediately bound, Sirius, still lying on the floor beneath Harry, was tied about his ankles and wrists. The cat streaked off to hide under the bed. The rat had tiny cords wrapped around his front and rear feet. Regulus conjured a cage and tossed the creature in, just for good measure. 

 

Hermione let out a delayed scream, and Ron gasped “Scabbers!” Only Harry seemed unmoved. He was still standing over Sirius, a look of complete dejection on his face. 

 

“Step back, Harry,” Lupin said kindly. “It’s over, we have him now.” He put a hand of Harry’s shoulder and gently directed him to the bed. He sank onto it next to Hermione. 

 

“Scabbers!” Ron said again. “What in the name of Merlin’s balls are you  _ doing _ ?” 

 

“Professor Lupin?” Hermione said tentatively.

 

“All will be explained,” Lupin said, and his tone was so grave and serious that the children stopped speaking. The only sounds were Scabber’s increasingly terrified squeaks. 

 

Regulus watched Lupin watching Sirius. He thought he knew a small fraction of how the man felt. He himself had been shocked when he had visited ten months before. Sirius was skeletal, his fine golden skin waxy and covered in sores. His hair, always so sleek and dark, was ragged and tangled, longer than it had ever been before. His eyes, which had always twinkled with mischief and merriment, were sunken and flat. Regulus had always looked up to Sirius and to see him so wasted had felt like a punch in the stomach. Lupin looked like it was knife straight to the heart. 

 

Slowly, Regulus moved towards his brother. He put a gentle hand on Lupin’s shoulder and whispered, “it’ll be alright.” Then, he knelt down slowly, grasping his brother under one arm. Lupin did the same and they hauled Sirius to his feet, leaning him against the Shack wall. He was incredibly light. His arms were bony. Regulus felt sick. 

 

Sirius had not yet taken his eyes off of Lupin. Regulus remembered that the last time they had seen each other, they had been 21, fit, and in love. 

 

“Why hasn’t Peter shown himself before now?” Regulus said finally. Sirius’s eyes darted to him, seeming to take him in for the first time. A surprised, hopeful smile flashed across his wasted face.

 

“We switched,” Sirius said hoarsely. “As it seems you and I have, Reg. Look at you here, playing Dumbledore’s hero, with  _ my _ \- best friend. You didn’t mention  _ that  _ when you visited.”

 

There was a chorus of gasps behind the group of men and Hermione let out a shrilly “NO!” They turned to see her standing, pointing a shaking finger at the group.

 

“I don’t believe it!” She spat. “I’ve been covering for you both! I believed in you!”

 

“Hermione,” Lupin said warningly, at the same time that Regulus said, “wait, Granger.”

 

“NO!” She shrieked again. “Harry, everyone in Professor Black’s family is in Azkaban or dead in the service of Voldemort. He was on trial himself for it, but Dumbledore acted as witnessed that he had turned spy. I read about it in the library. HE’S A DEATH EATER!

 

“AND YOU!” She gestured at Lupin. “HE’S A WEREWOLF, Harry, and was good friends with your dad AND Sirius and he must have been helping this whole time! They both want you dead!”

 

This proclamation rang into the silence, punctuated by the rat’s squeaks and the creaking of the old building. The orange cat crept from beneath the bed and hissed at the cage containing the rat. 

 

“Not quite your usual standard, Hermione,” Lupin said finally. “Regulus really  _ did  _ turn spy, and we have been working all year to  _ protect  _ Harry. Neither Regulus nor I have been helping Sirius, but we’re willing to listen to what he has to say now, in light of this-” he gestured to the rat. 

 

“But I will not deny that I am a werewolf.”

 

Ron made an effort to stand from the bed and move towards his rat, but his face turned a pale green and fell back with a thump. Lupin frowned gently and moved towards him

 

“ _ Get away from me, werewolf!”  _

 

Lupin stopped, a look of pain passing over his face. Against the wall, Sirius growled. 

 

“Sirius, enough,” Regulus snapped. “For Salazar’s sake, you can be so dramatic.”

 

“Oh?” Sirius asked, his hoarse voice sounding slightly more lively. “Can I? More dramatic than bursting into a room and tying everyone up in a rehearsed routine? Been practicing your stage blocking with Moony this year?”

 

“Stop it, Sirius,” Lupin said, speaking to Sirius directly for the first time. Regulus watched as his brother snapped his mouth shut, his eyes shifting to Lupin’s back and staying there. “How long have you know, Hermione?”

 

“Ages,” the girl said. “Since I did Professor Black’s essay…”

 

Regulus started as Lupin and Sirius cast him identical exasperated looks. 

 

“I thought it prudent at the time,” Regulus said stiffly, and Hermione looked at him with wide, confused eyes. 

 

“Are you working together or not?” Ron snapped. “And give me back my rat!”

 

“That’s not a rat,” Sirius said hoarsely. 

 

“Wha- of course it’s a rat!” Ron said. 

 

“Maybe we should start at the beginning,” Lupin said. Regulus watched his hand stray towards his belt. “Perhaps we can just untie Sirius and explain prop-”

 

Regulus cast a non-verbal expelliarmus, snatching Lupin’s wand from its holster.

 

“Regulus!” Lupin gasped. 

 

“ _ Remus, _ ” Regulus countered. The man faltered, staring at Regulus with wide, unreadable eyes. “The children need to understand and so do I. All I know is that a man who is supposed to be dead isn’t. That doesn’t mean Sirius is innocent. I’ve told you my theory.”

 

Remus turned pale and glanced back at Sirius. Regulus could see that his hands were twitching, as though he could barely hold himself back from touching his old lover. Regulus eyed the students’ wands still stashed in the man’s cloak and gauged if Remus would reach for them. 

 

“Of course,” Remus finally said. “I forgot myself.”

 

“If you’re going to explain, get on with it,” Sirius growled, his eyes hungry. Regulus wondered what he was more anxious for, a reunion with Remus or the chance to attack Peter. “You always were such a goody two-shoes.” 

 

“Well, I- I only know some of it,” Regulus faltered, their old roles rising again. He forced down his shoulders angrily and clenched his hands into fists so he wouldn’t touch his hair. “It starts with Lu- Remus, I suppose.”

 

“Yes,” Lupin said. He turned to the children and tossed their wands back to them. “Will you listen?”

 

Harry glanced at his friends in confusion. “If you haven’t been helping him, how did you know he was here?” 

 

“The map,” Lupin said. “The Marauder’s Map. Regulus and I have been monitoring it, looking for Sirius.”

 

“How do you know how to work it?” Harry asked. “Do you know....Prongs, or one of those people?”

 

“We  _ are  _ those people,” Lupin corrected. “Moony,” he gestured to himself, “Wormtail,” he pointed towards the caget, “Padfoot,” to Sirius, and “and your dad, Prongs,” he nodded at Harry. 

 

“That’s not _Wormtail_ , that’s Scabbers!” Ron snapped, but Hermione placed a hand on his arm.

 

“Professor?” She said slowly. “No one knew Sirius Black was an animagus. I did all the research for Professor McGonagall’s essay and there were only seven registered this century, and Sirius Black wasn’t one of them...are you saying...you all were?”

 

“You truly are the brightest witch of your age, Hermione,” Lupin said. 

 

“So you’re saying Scabbers is...Peter Pettigrew?”

 

“What?” Harry gasped, whipping his head around to look at Lupin for confirmation. 

 

“Hermione! He’s SCABBERS,” Ron said stubbornly. “This is nutters! Peter Pettigrew  _ died _ , HE blasted him apart in front of a street full of muggles!” He pointed at Sirius.

 

“The map never lies,” Remus said. “We spent months perfecting the spells.”

 

“Professor Lupin and I have been monitoring it since we confiscated it from you, Harry,” Reguls said. “We’ve seen my reckless brother a few times and we’ve been trying to capture him. But tonight...we saw the three of you enter Hagrid’s hut. When you exited, Pettigrew was with you.”

 

“This is madness,” Ron muttered. “Madness!”

 

“What about the twelve muggles he killed and all the witnesses?” Harry said, glaring at Sirius. His look was blazing and serious, more intense than any Regulus had ever seen on James Potter’s face. Sirius must have been thinking the same; he shrunk back and then puffed up defensively.

 

“They didn’t see what they thought! Peter yelled that I’d betrayed James and then blasted apart the whole street, running away down the sewer!” Sirius attempted to push himself off the wall, swayed dangerously, and had to be grabbed and set upright by Remus. Regulus noticed that Remus avoided Sirius’s eyes, touching him as clinically as possible. “Get on with it, then, Remus! Tell them!”

 

There was a loud pop and they all jumped. Remus looked around inquisitively, but there was nothing to be seen. 

 

“This place is haunted!” Ron gasped. His face was paler than ever. 

 

“No it’s not,” Remus said. “I suppose that’s the best place to start, eh, Sirius?”

 

Ron opened his mouth again, but Hermione and Harry both shushed him. Hermione’s eyes were drilled on Remus, but Regulus noticed that Harry kept glancing back at Sirius, a hungry, conflicted expression on his face as he took in the face of his dad’s best friend. 

 

Lupin told his story, hauntingly, haltingly; how he had been bitten as a child, how he had thought he would never be able to come to Hogwarts or make friends; how Dumbledore had placed wards on the shack and spread the rumor that it was haunted; how he had come here each month to transform and attack himself. 

 

Then the story turned to his friendship with James, Sirius, and Peter; how they had figured out his secret and hadn’t abandoned him; how they had been mischief makers and over-zealous defenders of the light; how they had learned to be animagi to keep him company as animals. 

 

“That’s still really dangerous!” Hermione chastised. “Running around in the dark with a werewolf! What if you had given the others the slip, and bitten somebody?”

 

Remus sighed, regret lacing his every word. He admitted that the thought still haunted him; that he had been struggling all year with his guilt; that he had almost went to Dumbledore a hundred times to admit it, only to convince himself Sirius must be using dark magic.

 

“I wanted to believe it was that or that Professor Black was helping him,” Remus said, nodding to Regulus. Regulus looked at him evenly.

 

“And I wanted to believe it was your doing, rather than my visit to Sirius,” Regulus said. Sirius laughed a little madly. 

 

“It was Cornelius Fudge!” he said. “Egomaniacs. Making up for always blaming me for everything in childhood, Reg? Always playing the good prefect and escaping detention, Remus? Fudge gave me a newspaper with Peter’s picture in it, that’s how I got the motivation to escape! If you’d fucking unbind me, I could show you!” 

 

“Sirius, please,” Remus said in a pained voice. “Language around the children, please.”

 

Sirius let out a barking laugh. Regulus was inclined to agree- the situation was so absurd; they were way past censoring their speech. 

 

Regulus raised his wand. “I’m going to release your arms,” he told his brother. “Any mischief and I’ll bind you right back again. Don’t cross me.”

 

“Understood,  _ father _ ,” Sirius spat. Regulus felt a sense of shame at being linked to the man, and tried to remind himself how this must seem to Sirius.  _ If  _ he really was innocent. 

 

“Sirius, stop,” Remus said again. “Regulus has been an ally this year. He’s been helping me with my transformations-” 

 

“Oh, of course! The little snake must take  _ everything  _ from me!” Sirius snarled. 

 

“Do you want to be released or not?” Regulus snapped. “Stop squirming or I might  _ slip  _ and give you rope burn.”

 

“Hey!” Harry snapped. “Look at where you are! Deal with your family drama later!” 

 

The three men turned to look at the bewildered teenagers. Harry’s expression was stormy. Remus and Sirius glanced at each other, grins spreading across their faces. They began to chuckle and couldn’t seem to stop. Tears began to stream down Sirius’s face, his entire body shaking, and then he was sobbing, the laughter quickly dying off.

 

Regulus raised his wand and loosened the ties around Sirius’s body. They puddled on the floor. He reached for Sirius and embraced him tightly. 

 

“Brother,” he whispered. 

 

“Brother,” Sirius whispered back through his tears. 

 

They let go and Sirius turned, right into Remus’s waiting arms. He let out a last shuddering gasp and gripped the man, clinging to him and trembling. 

 

“Sit, Padfoot,” Remus whispered, lowering them to the ground. His scar-streaked hand raised, seemingly of its own accord, and brushed the dirt and tears from Sirius’s face. It was undeniably intimate, and Regulus couldn’t help but look away. 

 

The three teenagers on the bed were looking equally as uncomfortable. Harry was staring at his knees and Ron was glaring at the captured rat. Only Hermione was still watching, her gaze piercing.

 

“You said Fudge gave you an article with Peter in it?” Hermione prompted unsubtly. Remus jerked his hand back and Sirius dropped his head heavily against the shack wall. He gazed at Hermione from under heavy lids. 

 

“Yes, that’s right,” he said thickly. He reached into his tattered grey robes, so threadbare and dirty, a sharp contrast to the thick, quality robes he used to wear. He pulled a tattered piece of paper and held out his shaking hand. Remus took it and gasped softly. 

 

“Yes,” he murmured. He passed it to the group of teenagers, who examined it with frowning faces. Regulus craned his head to catch a look. It was a vaguely familiar picture of the entire Weasley family. He moved closer- yes, there was the rat, perched on Ron’s shoulder. 

 

“He’s missing a toe,” Remus murmured. “So simple...he must of cut it off just before he blew up the street.”

 

“Lots of rats have missing toes!” Ron said, but he didn’t sound so sure now. The sight of a famous mass murderer crying seemed to have knocked the confidence out of the brash boy. “He’s...he’s been in the family forever…”

 

“An unusually long time,” Regulus pointed out gently. “So either he is coming to the end of his natural rat lifespan or something else has caused his illness.”

 

Ron opened and closed his mouth a few times, before sputtering, “He’s just looking ill because he’s been scared of that cat!”

 

But that wasn’t quite true, the teenagers discussed. The rat had been ill since their return from Egypt. Sirius told them that the squashed-face cat, now preening in front of the cage and licking its lips, had been helping him, attempting to bring him the rat and give him access to the tower. 

 

“But why would he be scared of you, if he’s the one who killed all those muggles?” Harry asked, suddenly furious. “Why would be be in hiding? This is ridiculous! I should have killed you when I had a chance!”

 

Regulus glanced sharply at the boy and then at Remus. 

 

“Killing is a very serious thing, Harry,” Remus said.

 

“We’ll have a discussion about that when we get out of here,” Regulus added. 

 

“Killing is a very serious thing,” Sirius mocked. “I understand Harry’s actions. Can we get on with it so I can commit the killing  _ I _ was imprisoned for?” 

 

“See! He is a killer!” Harry cried, raising his hand and gripping his wand tightly. 

 

“Harry,” Remus said quickly. “Think about it- Regulus and I have been hunting Sirius all year, but we’re willing to give him a chance to explain. We wouldn’t do that if there wasn’t solid proof- Peter betrayed your parents and Sirius tracked him down, see, not the other way around-”

 

“NO!” Harry yelled. “I heard McGonagall say he was their secret keeper, he admitted he betrayed them before you turned up!”

 

“Harry,” Sirius said, and Regulus was shocked to hear that his voice was begging. “I might as well have killed them, I made a mistake, I convinced them to change to Peter-”

 

“For Salazar’s sake, Sirius, you can be so misleading when you’re being dramatic!” Regulus interrupted. “Why didn’t you tell him that right up front?”

 

“Fuck you, Reg! I’ve waiting twelve years for this-”

 

Remus shot Regulus a glare. 

 

“Padfoot,” He said, gripping the man’s arm and stopping his words with a look. “Go ahead. Tell us about the secret keeper.”

 

Sirius swallowed, running a shaking hand over his matted hair. The blue veins stood out sharply against his thin arms and yellowed skin. 

 

“I thought it was the perfect trick. Voldemort would suspect me. No one would dream that it was Peter. 

 

“It was Halloween and he hadn’t checked in. I told myself I would check in the morning...enjoy the holiday...stop fretting so much. I left from our place and headed to the safe house the next morning,” his eyes were on Harry now, begging, pleading. 

 

“I’m so sorry, Harry, I failed you, I failed James. Peter wasn’t there, but there was no sign of a struggle. It didn't feel right. I went to your house...it was destroyed...half collapsed in, walls burnt, ash everywhere...I saw your parents’ bodies...they looked...perfect…as though they were asleep...I knew it was the killing curse. It leaves no marks.”

 

Here he teared up and fell silent for a minute, sniffing heartily. 

 

“I didn’t see you, Harry. I thought...I had nothing left to lose.” His voice was utterly haunted, far away, ethereal and tortured. “Almost nothing.” He glanced at Remus. “So I tracked him down. He shouted for the whole street to hear that I had betrayed your parents and then blew it all up.” 

 

There was a long silence at the end of his story. Harry half stood, as though intending to reach for Sirius, and then hesitated. He turned his green eyes towards Remus. 

 

“Do you believe him?”

 

“I do,” Remus said. “But we don’t have to believe him. We can prove it. My wand, please, Regulus?”

 

“What’ll it do if Scabbers is just...Scabbers?” Ron asked, sounding more uncertain than ever. 

 

“It won’t hurt him,” Remus assured him. “We’re just going to force him to show himself.”

 

Regulus handed Remus his wand, flipping it around so that the other man could grab the handle. He took his own wand and expanded the cage, severing the ropes around the rat’s ankles not-so-gently. He cast a few spells on the bars, then nodded curtly at Remus. 

 

“Remus,” Sirius said hoarsely. “Moony. May I-?”

 

“Here,” Regulus thrust his own wand at his brother. He caught Remus’s eye and said seriously, “don’t make me regret that.”

 

“If that rat isn’t Peter, I’ll disarm Sirius myself,” Remus promised. He placed an arm around Sirius and the two moved slowly towards the cage. Sirius’s haunted eyes burned in his face. Remus’s faded eyes seemed to have sharpened to a neon blue. They were men possessed. 

 

“One,” Remus said, in a voice like a prayer. “Two...three!”

 

Twin jets of blue-white light sprang from their wands, striking the rat in the cage. And then Peter Pettigrew was growing from nothingness, filling the cage rapidly as he crouched and blinked and wheezed into being. His brown, watery eyes darted frantically and he grasped the bars of the cage, his dirty nails overgrown and pointed. His index finger was missing and the stump looked like it had healed badly. 

 

Ron yelled. 

 

“Well, hello, Peter,” Lupin said lightly. “Long time, no see.”

 

What ensued was a charged conversation of accusations and lies, as Peter tried to deflect on anyone but himself. He wildly accused Sirius of trying to kill him, gesturing with his mutilated hand and muttering defensively when Sirius turned it back around, suggesting it was Voldemort’s living supporters Peter had been hiding from. When Peter realized that tactic wasn’t working, he rounded on Remus, spitting hurtful words-  _ he didn’t trust you _ **,** _ he only saw you as a werewolf, he’s always been manipulating you-  _ and when Remus looked unphased, Peter pivoted in the cage to glare at Regulus. 

 

“And this one’s doing the same, Remus, Moony, my old friend! You think this  _ Death Eater _ is on your side- they’ve been tricking us for years!”

 

“Come off of it!” Sirius yelled, bringing Regulus’s wand hand up. “Leave Remus and Reg out of this, this is between you and me, you little rat. Get ready to die!” 

 

“Wait!” Remus snapped, holding a hand up. 

 

“How did he escape then, Moony, if not for Dark Magic?” Peter spat out. He had drifted to the edges of the bars. When they all focused their gazes on Sirius, Peter darted one arm out of the cage towards Remus’s arm. 

 

Remus stepped back swiftly and glared. 

 

“That little act of desperation undermines your transparent attempt at misdirection,” Regulus said dryly. 

 

Sirius, barely controlling his angry shaking, begin to justify his escape. Regulus could see the picture becoming clearer for the teenagers, as Sirius explained luring an owl to his cell to send his letter and transforming into an animagus to escape. Regulus watched Sirius’s expression grow more intense and hopeful as he gazed at Harry, gesturing wildly as he enumerated on his motives for escaping. Regulus was reminded painfully of being a young child and watching Sirius try to gain their father’s approval. But the difference was palpable in the air- Harry was rash, young, and stubborn, but he was undeniably, irrevocably moral. 

 

“Do you believe me?” Sirius asked, his dark eyes never leaving Harry.

 

Finally, pale faced, green eyes blazing, the boy nodded.

 

“NO!” Pettigrew gasped. He was sweaty and red, and his watery eyes were more darting and desperate than ever. He lurched towards the side of the cage and reached out to the children. 

 

“Ron! I was a good pet, wasn’t I, don’t let them kill me!”

 

Ron was now a distinct shade of green. He jerked himself back from the man, staring at him in disgust. 

 

“I let you sleep in my  _ bed! _ ”

 

“Clever girl, the brightest girl, you won’t let them kill me-” Peter tried, reaching out towards Hermione. She backed away further on the bed, grabbing Ron’s hand tightly, the fear on her face palpable. 

 

“I’m just a student,” she gasped. “Professor Black, Professor Lupin, couldn’t we...the dementors-?”

 

But Sirius wasn’t listening and Regulus saw that Remus wasn’t either. Their faces were twin masks of rage and chaos. They were raising their wands, stepping back to get better aim. The hands that didn’t hold their wands were grasped. Peter began to throw himself against the bars of the cage, wailing and jerking. 

 

“NO! Harry, no, please, James would have understood, don’t let them do it, Harry!”

 

Sirius roared a curse, letting loose a stream of vitriol. But it was Remus who shocked them all, bringing down his wand in a slashing gesture that left Peter with a bleeding gash from ear to chin. The wound crossed his upper and lower lips. The man sputtered and gagged on the blood. 

 

“You’re a beast!” Peter yelled. “It’s no wonder Sirius suspected you and not me!”

 

Sirius roared. Regulus, wandless, realized it was too late to intervene. Despite Harry’s yelling, despite Remus’s attempt to grab Sirius’s arm, despite Regulus’s leap towards his brother, Sirius was raising the wand and screaming “Avada-!”

 

There was a huge blast and the floor caved in. They all tumbled through the rotting floorboards, a cacophony of noise echoing as bed, cage, and seven people crashed to the floor below. Peter screamed and cried out as the cage landed upside down, a metallic gong ringing around the room. Ron groaned and began to sob as his broken leg was pinned underneath him. Harry scrambled from the mess, yelling for his friends. 

 

Remus and Regulus rushed to the teenagers, freeing them from the rubble with a mixture of magic and strength. Remus levitated Ron gently back onto the bed, the dark anger gone and replaced with his normal expression as he bound the leg in a splint. Regulus checked over Harry and Hermione, running his hands over their limbs in search of broken bones. Satisfied that they were well, as least physically, he darted to Sirius’s side and snatched his wand from his brother’s hand. Sirius looked shell shocked and hadn’t taken his eyes from the cage. 

 

Regulus turned slowly and took in the sight before him. A slow feeling of triumph spread through him and he grinned darkly. There, on top of the upturned cage, standing victoriously, was Kreacher. His dark tunic, embossed with the Black family crest, was dusty and torn, but the elf had his head held high and a slightly deranged smile on his face. 

 

“Master Sirius is being a bad boy, oh yes!” The elf said happily. “Good thing Kreacher was here to stop Master Sirius from doing something that would land Master back in jail.”

 

“Kreacher?” Sirius said. “That mad elf is still alive?”

 

“This mad elf just saved your life, ungrateful Master!” Kreacher said, but he was too pleased with himself to sound sharp. “There are dementors waiting right outside for Master Sirius, oh yes, and the Minister for Magic, and Dumbledore too! If Master Sirius kills this scum-” here he stomped one horned foot on the cage- “then Master Sirius will not be able to prove he did not kill those muggles! Worthless bugs that they are.”

 

Hermione made a small, indignant sound, but seemed too shell shocked to say anything else. 

 

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Remus said finally. “We were carried away.”

 

“You is welcome, Professor Lupin,” Kreacher answered cordially. 

 

“What?!” Sirius said. “WHAT?!” 

 

“I know,” Regulus said. “A few short months ago, Kreacher was tailing Remus and reporting on the disgusting state of his robes. Now they’re good friends. I don’t claim to understand it either.”

 

Peter groaned from beneath Kreacher’s feet. 

 

“My leg,” he said. “You tried to kill me and then you broke my leg.”

 

“You’ll have to wait in line,” Remus said, his dry, pleasant voice returned. “I think students take precedence over friend-betraying mass murderers. I’m sure once the dementor’s get ahold of you, you won’t be worried about it at all.”

 

“Or anything else,” Sirius added viciously.

 

Peter began to cry, great wracking sobs that echoed around the room. The other men looked at each other. 

 

“Let’s go,” Sirius said. “I’m ready to be free.”

 

“Sirius, let’s think this through,” Regulus cautioned. The Minister for Magic and a hoard of dementors are up there. If we just walk out, they’ll kiss first and ask questions later.”

 

Sirius went pale. 

 

“Always have to be right,” he muttered, but his heart didn’t seem to be in it. 

 

“We’ll go first,” Harry announced. “With Professor Lupin. They won’t attack students.”

 

“I can follow with this one,” Regulus said, nudging the cage with his foot. “Kreacher, stay by me. Sirius, you take the rear. We want to put as many people between you and the Minister as possible.”

 

“Excuse me,” Hermione gasped suddenly, raising her hand as though they were in class and bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but isn’t it a full moon?”

 

They all turned to look at her. Remus gasped and grabbed at his pocket watch. 

 

“Merlin’s Beard, you’re right, Hermione.”

 

“What?” Ron gasped, grabbing Hermione’s arm and laboring to pull her closer.

 

“Regulus, quick, make another cage. Silver bars, iron floor,” Sirius instructed. Regulus wasted no time in following his brother’s instructions and Lupin threw himself inside. The destroyed room creaked around them and Peter continued to dry heave while Ron moaned piteously. 

 

“My potion will hold!” Regulus said with more confidence than he felt. “It hasn’t failed once this year, and this one is more powerful than the last.”

 

“Potion?” Sirius said at the same time as Ron. The two made eye contact and looked away, seemingly realizing the ridiculousness of the dynamic they found themselves in. 

 

“Explain...later…” Remus said. “Back...away…”

 

He was trembling, his muscles rippling under his skin. Sirius and Regulus walked backwards, arms outstretched in front of the children. Kreacher stood in front of them, his small hands raised, palms outward, and defensive. Peter moaned and cried. There was a zipping sound as he tried to transform, only to be stopped by a charm on the cage. 

 

“Ohh, I’m splinched,” he moaned. The others ignored him.

 

Remus cried out and groaned. His bones creaked and popped, changing shape rapidly. His screams turned to howls as hair sprouted on his body. His face elongated, teeth painfully protruding through his gums, claws painfully ripping through his knuckles. He let out one long, last howl and then threw himself onto the floor of the cage, panting. 

 

The group waited, none of them daring to even breathe. 

 

“Why isn’t he attacking himself?” Sirius asked breathlessly. “Or trying to get to us?”

 

“My potion,” Regulus said. “Improved-upon Wolfsbane Potion. He  _ should  _ be in control of himself.”

 

Sirius transformed and approached the cage as a great black dog, his huge paws leaving plate-sized prints on the dusty floor. 

 

The werewolf reached a nose forward tentatively, avoiding bumping his muzzle against the silver bars. Sirius pushed his own muzzle through, touching their noses together. Moony sighed and sat back. He bobbed his huge, grey head, seemingly nodding. 

 

Sirius backed away and transformed. 

 

“He’s there,” he said decisively. “That’s Remus.” 

 

“I told you my potion worked,” Regulus said, but the triumph was meek. “And I have a plan.”

 

\---

 

They moved slowly through the tunnel, like a morbid parade procession. Harry walked in front, as the person least likely to be attacked by the Ministry. He was followed by Moony, who was sandwiched on either side by Kreacher and Padfoot. Though he seemed cognisant, Kreacher kept one warning hand on the great beast’s side, his palm bristling with elf magic. Hermione followed behind, Ron’s arm around her shoulder as he dragged his bound leg. Regulus brought up the rear, levitating the crushed cage behind him, ignoring its occupant’s moans. 

 

The walk seemed to take three times as long as their journey to the Shrieking Shack, but Regulus used the time to compose himself. He tidied and mended his robes, smoothed his hair and his expression. He practiced what he wanted to say, automatically doing some of the vocal warm ups he had practiced as a child. 

 

“Merlin’s meager mumblings managed minor mutilation. Salazar’s savage spellcasting slayed slothish squibs. Merlin’s meager-”

 

Sirius-as-Padfoot slowed to be beside his brother. His pale eyes were piercing in the dark tunnel as he gave Regulus a pointed, very un-doglike stare. Regulus flushed and clamped his mouth shut. 

 

“Get back up there, mutt,” he muttered. Padfoot huffed and sped back up beside the werewolf, leaning comfortably into the canine’s sleek grey fur. 

 

They were rising now, and Regulus could see the faintest bit of moonlight. He watched approvingly as Harry raised his hands, wand away, and called, “we’re safe! Don’t cast! We’re safe!”

 

The group moved slowly into the grounds. The summer air was cooler than expected and pleasantly damp, as though a small drizzle was incoming. The moon was huge and heavy, casting silvery light across the grass. Regulus breathed deeply, taking in the scents of grass, earth, and magic. The inhale grounded him, wiping out the dust and cobwebs that seemed to have settled in his brain as well as on his clothes. He looked around, taking in the scene in front of him.

 

At least twenty witches and wizards were waiting for them, arranged in a circle around the Whomping Willow. A hundred feet behind, just far enough to spare the magicians from their effects, was a ring of dementors. Each person had their wand raised. Regulus spotted several Aurors he knew, plus all the Hogwarts professors, Fudge, McNair, and Dumbledore. Regulus took a deep breath and, against all his instincts, lowered the walls of his mind.

 

“Great Scott!” Fudge gasped. “A werewolf! Kill it!”

 

McNair moved to grab his wand, but Dumbledore placed a hand lightly on the old man’s wiry arm. 

 

“I think you’ll see from his behavior that he is not dangerous,” Albus said. “That is our own Professor Lupin.”

 

Fudge gasped again and turned to Dumbledore so quickly that his bowler hat was dislodged. 

 

“That is even worse! You have been exposing the children to that- that- beast?”

 

“Minister!” Regulus called. He struggled to manage his words while forcefully projecting his memories towards Dumbledore. “Look for yourself. This is clearly a wolf animagus. See how controlled he is? Couldn’t hardly take any other form with a name like Lupin, eh?”

 

The other Hogwarts professors glanced at one another, then at Dumbledore. Albus was radiating power and authority, his beard gleaming in the moonlight. He gave one, curt nod, and the others rushed to murmur their agreement. 

 

“An animagus, you say?” Fudge said, still leaning back as though Remus might attack at any moment.  “Well, you can understand my confusion...and we don’t have that on record, Lupin! There’s a fine for that! Why is he transformed? And what is that other beast? Looks like a grim!” 

 

“Students, get behind your professors,” Regulus said instead of answering. Hermione set off immediately, supporting Ron, but Harry hesitated. “Harry,” Regulus warned, and the boy reluctantly moved towards Dumbledore. 

 

“Send the Dementors back to the entrance!” Regulus cried. “As you can see, I have the suspect caged and guarded. These students cannot withstand the effects of some many dementors.”

 

“Well- I-” Fudge dithered, but Dumbledore had already cast three gleaming phoenix patronuses, which swooped the parameter and herded the dementors away. “Well, yes, alright then. If you must!”

 

Regulus now stood in front of the cage, Padfoot, Moony, and Kreacher at his sides. He could feel Dumbledore’s presence, frantically sorting and ordering as though Regulus’s mind was a filing cabinet.

 

“Your elf said you had Sirius Black with you!” Fudge cried. “Hand him over now, or I will be forced to conclude you are helping him!” 

 

“Would I have sent my elf for assistance if my intentions were not true?” Regulus cried. 

 

“I- well- that is neither here nor there!” Fudge spat. “Hand him over, or I will send my aurors in.”

 

“I have a law breaker in custody, that is true! But you will find that he is not Sirius Black. I’m sure my elf didn’t misspeak!” 

 

Frankly, Regulus didn’t know and didn’t care what Kreacher had said. For all they had fallen from glory, Black was still a sacred name, and Regulus knew that with the right affect to his voice, Fudge wouldn’t dare to contradict him. 

 

“Who is it then?” Fudge was starting to sound exasperated and desperate, his shoulders drooping as he glanced at the group of wizards and witches he had called there. Regulus probed gently at Fudge’s thoughts and saw that he was frantic to avoid looking incompetent. 

 

“Minister, I’m glad to hand off this criminal to you! I hardly know what to do with this kind of charlatan,” Regulus called, tasting the emotions as they rolled off of Fudge and adjusted his words as needed. “This man faked his death and has been living as an unregistered animagus for twelve years. He has admitted to being involved in the death of Lily and James Potter  _ and  _ is a person of interest in the Sirius Black case!”

 

“Who is he?” Fudge cried eagerly, stepping forward. 

 

“Peter Pettigrew!” 

 

There was a collective gasp from the crowd, especially among the older aurors and Hogwarts professors. 

 

“What? Pettigrew? He’s has an Order of Merlin! Surely it’s an imposter?” Fudge cried. 

 

“See for yourself, Minister! I am as shocked as you- that is why I asked Lupin to accompany me in his most dangerous form, and brought my guard dog and elf along as well.”

 

Fudge turned and murmured to Dumbledore, frantically seeking advice. Dumbledore called over Minerva, who conferred with them in quick whispers. Regulus watched as Madame Pomfrey moved slowly across the grounds, supporting Ron on a stretcher while Harry and Hermione reluctantly followed, walking as slowly as they could get away with. 

 

“I know Pettigrew’s magical signature!” Minerva called out. “I was his head of house for seven years, after all.”

 

She marched across the grass, head held high. Moony shifted restlessly and Padfoot growled lowly at him. Kreacher placed a warning hand on the beast’s shoulder. 

 

Regulus could see that Minerva’s face was pale, her hair escaping from it’s tight bun. She glanced at Remus uncomfortably before peering into the cage. She let out a gasp. 

 

“Merlin’s Beard!” she muttered, her Scottish accent stronger than normal. She performed a series of complicated spells, twisting her wand in complex patterns and whispering a song-like chant under her breath. Peter moaned, gasping and crying, as sickly green waves of magic rose off him. 

 

“Professor,” he gasped, “please help.”

 

His voice seemed to spook her worse than all the other events, and she stumbled back. 

 

“You, an animagus?” Her voice was not kind. “I would never have believed it.”

 

“It’s true, Minister!” She called, her voice shaking. “This is Pettigrew. He shows signs of deterioration consistent with someone who has spent long amounts of time in an animagus state, and I can see that he has sustained damage attempting to transform back while under an anti-animagus spell.”

 

“Aurors, move in!” Fudge called. “Look that man up in Azkaban, I want night and day supervision on him,  _ auror  _ supervision! We don’t want another incident like Black! They’re probably working together!”

 

Regulus cast a small smile down at shaggy beast to his left. Minerva caught the gesture and raised one thin eyebrow. As the aurors moved in, shouting and carrying off the cage, she leaned forward and whispered to Regulus.

 

“That’s not the only magical signature I recognize,” she told him. “I’d know the smell of Sirius Black’s magic anywhere. One of the most talented transfiguration students I’ve ever had. You better have a damn good explanation for this, Professor Black.”

 

Kreacher cackled. Regulus gave her a prim smile.

 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! The gang's back together again! I'm planning an epilogue and then probably a series of one-shots about the aftermath. I don't want to write about all the changes this causes through all the books, but I'd definitely like to explore some other points of view and peek in on the romance between Sirius and Remus that is brewing! Hope you enjoyed!


	4. The Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! I spent a lot of time considering how I wanted this chapter to go and how much I wanted to get into in the future. Your kind reviews and my growing love for this story has convinced me to go ahead and draft a full sequel. So, without further ado, here's the last chapter of The Good Brother.

A loud bark of laughter echoed up the stairs of Grimmauld Place, slipping right underneath the gap between Regulus’s door and the hardwood floor. Regulus sighed and sat up, renewing his soundproofing charm aggressively and then flopping back into his bed. He couldn’t outwardly begrudge Sirius and Remus their reminiscing, but did they have to do it so...very...loudly?

 

Kreacher appeared with a pop, offering Regulus a cup of tea that smelled strongly of liquor. Regulus accepted it without comment, frowning towards the door as he sipped.

 

“Master Regulus did not  _ have  _ to invite Master Sirius and the professor back to Grimmauld Place,” the elf said reproachfully. 

 

“It’s his house,” Regulus pointed out. “Technically, since he’s innocent, he’s the rightful heir to the house of Black.”

 

“Master Sirius is not having the proper solemnity to be heir,” Kreacher mumbled. The elf scuffed his horned heels against the hardwood in agitation. “And anyway, Master Sirius is not innocent until the Wizengamot rules it.” 

 

“That’s probably why he’s drinking and.. _ emoting _ so much,” Regulus acknowledged. “Sirius always did burst outward when the prudent thing would be to turn inward.”

 

There was another loud bark of laughter, along with Remus’s voice, sounding more youthful that Regulus had ever heard it, hissing, “Padfoot! Stop that!”

 

“Sweet Salazar, they’re intentionally removing my charm!” Regulus swore, raising from his bed and striding to the landing. He yanked the door open and called down the stairs to the drawing room. “Stop that, Sirius! We’re not children anymore. And don’t get dog hair on my chair!”

 

There was a short silence and then Remus roared with laughter. Regulus could smell the alcohol from the landing. 

 

“You should consider going to bed!” Regulus called out. “Drinking the night away won’t make tomorrow’s trial go any more favorably.”

 

“Aw, Reg,” Sirius called back. “Always the voice of unending boredom and responsibility.”

 

Regulus huffed. Sirius had been insisting on acting like they were still children since Peter’s capture. He had wanting to hang around Hogwarts as Padfoot for the last week, but Regulus had firmly dissuaded him, pointing out that once Sirius was declared innocent, his animagus form would have to be registered and Regulus couldn’t appear to have known his location. He’d pouted and fought violently against going to Grimmauld Place on his own, finally agreeing only if Remus stayed with him until Regulus left Hogwarts for the summer. When Regulus finally returned home, he had tried to have a serious conversation with his brother to explain his loyalties and apologize for the wedge that had grown between them as teenagers. Sirius had just laughed loudly and brushed it off as “literally ancient history.” Then he’d turned into Padfoot and refused to speak further about it.

 

There was the sound of footsteps and then Remus’s face, flushed and lively, appeared at the bottom of the stairs. 

 

“I’ll have him up shortly, Regulus, and then I’ll floo out myself,” the man promised. 

 

Regulus rolled his eyes. 

 

“See that you do,” he snapped, retreating into his bedroom and casting a final soundproofing charm, along with some generalized wards. 

 

“Why does the professor insist on pretending he is going home to his own bed?” Kreacher asked Regulus slyly. 

The elf had made himself comfortable sitting at Regulus’s desk. 

 

“Oh, hush, Kreacher, it’s none of our business,” Regulus said, but his heart wasn’t in it. “It’s been years. I’m sure they’re still...figuring things out.” 

 

“Kreacher saw Master Sirius gripping the professor very intimately,” Kreacher muttered. “Kreacher does not think they have much to figure out.”

 

“Nonsense,” Regulus said. “Sirius is still a criminal, until proven otherwise. Remus just lost his position at Hogwarts -”

 

Kreacher bristled. 

 

“Mister Lucius Malfoy is a rat, and not fit to represent Slytherin house,” the elf said hotly. “As if Mister Lucius Malfoy hasn’t broken laws and paid his way out of them!”

 

“I take responsibility,” Regulus said. “It was my lie that caused Remus to be hit with that fine- I’ve paid it, of course, but it’s no good, Rita Skeeter’s already ran the article on ‘Lawbreaking Lupin’.”

 

They sat in silence for a minute, Regulus sipping his tea, Kreacher glaring at his own boney knees. 

 

“Think they’re still going at it?” Regulus asked. 

 

Kreacher hopped to his feet. 

 

“Kreacher will check and report back in the morning when Kreacher wakes Master Regulus,” the elf said. 

 

“Discretely, of course,” Regulus warned. 

 

Kreacher merely smiled. Regulus could never fool Kreacher into thinking he was as unattached as he appeared to be. 

 

The elf quietly left the room and Regulus flopped back into bed. He pulled his blankets tight and rolled to face the wall. The alcohol was starting to take effect and he felt his eyelids growing heavy. He sighed once more, heavily, and then let his breathing slow, drifting off to sleep.

 

\---

 

“Master,” Kreacher’s voice, gravely but quiet, brought Regulus gently to the surface of his consciousness. “Master Regulus. The time is five o’clock.”

 

Regulus sighed and sat up, swiping his hair behind his ears smoothly. He accepted the drink Kreacher offered him, reflecting that it had merely been a few hours since this scene had last played out. 

 

He stood up and approached his wardrobe, selecting his most austere set of dress robes. He glanced at Kreacher, who was shuffling his feet impatiently.

 

“Were there any more disturbances last night?” Regulus asked in voice of feigned unconcern. 

 

“Master Sirius and the professor stopped laughing,” Kreacher reported eagerly. “Master Sirius angrily asked Mister Remus how he could have believed Sirius would betray the Potters and Mister Remus snapped back that Master Sirius believed he was the spy for some time before the Dark Lord was vanquished. Then Master Sirius began to cry and then he changed into that filthy mutt form and sulked in Master Regulus’s chair.”

 

“Oh, for Salazar’s sake!” Regulus said. “...then what happened?” 

 

“Then, the professor began to talk soothingly to Master Sirius and stroke him. When Master Sirius refused to respond, Mister Remus levitated him up the stairs to his bedroom. As he passed Kreacher, Mister Remus told Kreacher that there ‘would be no need to report this’ to Master Regulus.”

 

“Damn! I hoped the alcohol would obscure his sense of smell. And did Remus go home?”

 

“Kreacher did not see Mister Remus come out of Master Sirius’s bedroom,” Kreacher said smugly. 

 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Regulus said immediately, even though it clearly did. “It was late.” 

 

Regulus finished doing up the long line of silver buttons and then ran a comb through his hair.

 

“Please make sure they’re awake, Kreacher.”

 

“Kreacher will call through the door but Kreacher will not go into Master Sirius’s bedroom!” Kreacher said hotly. “Kreacher does not wish to see Master Sirius’s pale buttocks!”

 

“Kreacher!” Regulus said, astonished and amused.

 

“Kreacher will make sure they are up,” Kreacher said firmly. Regulus smiled and strode downstairs, shaking his head and suppressing a laugh. He entered the kitchen and grabbed a slice of buttered toast, swiping the morning’s Daily Prophet off the table to scan as he ate. 

 

_ Pettigrew’s Trial Begins Today _

_ By: Rita Skeeter, special correspondent  _

 

_ Peter Pettigrew, a man long believed dead, a man who was ‘posthumously’ awarded an Order of Merlin, was found alive at Hogwarts merely a month ago by none other than Professor Regulus Black, brother to the Azkaban escapee Sirius Black. His discovery has created an uproar and caused many questions to arise, among them how Headmaster Albus Dumbledore could have a dead man living in his school as a pet for at least seven years. Another prominent question: if Sirius Black did not kill Peter Pettigrew, what else might he be innocent of? _

 

_ Some astute members of the wizarding community have questioned why the wizard was imprisoned without a trial at the end of the Wizarding War twelve years ago. Albus Dumbledore, who has recused himself from this trial, was already the Head Warlock of the Wizengamot when Sirius Black was committed to Azkaban. Depending on the results of today’s trial, Dumbledore could find himself directly responsible for false imprisonment.  _

 

_ As originally reported in this publication June 11th, Pettigrew was found by potions professor Regulus Back on June 9th, hiding in the infamous “Shrieking Shack” in Hogsmeade. Under as-yet-unclear circumstances, Professor Black and the unregistered animagus Remus Lupin apprehended Pettigrew, who was revealed to also be an unregistered animagus in the form of a rat. Rumors report that Harry Potter and two other students may also have been on the scene. Professor Black alleges that Pettigrew admitted to framing Sirius Black for the murder of twelve muggles committed in November of 1981 immediately following You-Know-Who’s defeat.  _

 

_ As the Ministry scrambled to call off dementors and rescind the kill-on-sight order issued against Sirius Black, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge released a the following statement: _

 

_ “I am officially extending an invitation to Sirius Black to turn himself in. Sirius, you have my guarantee that you will be housed in a comfortable, well-warded environment until we resolve all questions relating to this case.” _

 

_ Sirius Black has not yet turned himself in.  _

 

_ The full-jury trial is set to begin at 8:00am. Witnesses are expected to include Regulus Black and Harry Potter. Details to follow in the Evening Prophet. _

 

“Where’s Harry?” Remus asked as he emerged into the kitchen, snatching the newspaper and a slice of toast. He was wearing a borrowed set of Regulus’s robes. Regulus wasn’t sure if it was the reemergence of Sirius, the Wolfsbane enhancements, or the just the rich navy blue, but Remus looked healthier than he had since he had attended Hogwarts as a boy.

 

“Albus should be here with him soon,” Regulus assured Remus. “Don’t bother reading the drivel. More of the same.”

 

“And you’re sure they won’t call me to the stand?” Remus asked. His voice was falsely casual as he poured himself some tea. 

 

“They won’t,” Regulus assured him. “You’re poor, a half blood, and a recently discovered criminal. They won’t be interested in your opinion.” 

 

“Gee, thanks,” Remus said, but his voice sounded genuinely relieved. 

 

“Morning,” Sirius muttered darkly as he entered the room. “Where’s Harry?”

 

“On his way,” Remus and Regulus chorused. Sirius’s scowl deepened.

 

“I hate it when you do that,” he said.

 

“I hate it when you leave dog hair in my chair,” Regulus reminded him. “Here, eat.”

 

Kreacher entered the kitchen, edging around Sirius wearily. Sirius shot him a hateful glance and Regulus sighed. But a quick tally of the day was convincing enough for Regulus to decide to leave  _ that  _ discussion for later. 

 

“Have some toast, Kreacher, don’t be bashful around these buffoons,” Regulus said, offering the elf a piece.    
“Your table manners are as good as mine, and better than these two at least some of the month.” 

 

Remus smiled kindly at the elf. Sirius huffed and ignored them. 

 

“Kreacher ate earlier,” Kreacher said. “Kreacher is just wondering where young Mister Harry is?”

 

“On his way,” all three men answered. At that moment, the door chimed. 

 

“Company, Regulus!” called his mother’s portrait. “Where is Kreacher?”

 

“Coming, Mistress!” Kreacher called, exiting the room at a rapid pace. The three men strode quickly after him, each anxiously pretending not be anxious. Regulus bumped his way to the front, nudging his taller brother out of the way with a swift ram of his shoulder into Sirius’s chest. Sirius swore, but his voice was amused. Regulus found that the best way to make Sirius happy since he returned home was to treat him as though he was as young and fit as he had ever been. 

 

“Albus,” Regulus said as he pulled the door open. He cast an appraising glance at Harry, making sure to smooth his expression before meeting the boy’s eyes. He looked bleary, tired, and badly underdressed in his muggle t-shirt and jeans. “To me, Albus,” Regulus said, offering his ear for Dumbledore’s whispered pass phrase. 

 

“Not an imposter,” he announced, stepping back. 

 

“Why do you insist on inviting the muggle-loving fool every week?” his mother’s portrait sighed in a long-suffering way. “The Potter heir, I do not mind.  _ He  _ still has potential to see the value of his blood. Of course, the Potters were never part of the Sacred families, but he’s not completely worthless...”

 

“Mother, please,” Regulus said. “Come in, Harry, Albus. I have dress robes for you, Harry.”

 

“Uh, thanks,” Harry said, his green eyes wide behind his glasses as they always were when encountering Walburga’s portrait. “I’ll just...go into the drawing room.”

 

“First my rebellious son, back from jail, and  _ not  _ the muggle-hunting hero he was rumored to be,” Walburga intoned. “Then the werewolf, then this soft old fool. You shall have to remove me from the entry if this is what I must be subjected to!”

 

Sirius shot a freezing charm at her. Albus’s mouth twitched, his eyes twinkling. The group set off to the drawing room, where Harry was already scrambling into his robes, pulling them over his muggle clothes.

 

“You may wish to remove the jeans and t-shirt to better impress the Wizengamot,” Remus told the boy gently. Harry flushed. 

 

“Right- er- yeah. Be right back.”

 

Sirius gazed after him rather longingly. 

 

“I can’t believe I’m going to miss this,” he said, throwing himself moodily into Regulus’s chair. 

 

“I’ll let you watch the entire thing in the pensieve, Padfoot,” Remus promised. 

 

“And you can be assured of the outcome,” Dumbledore said. “Sirius, I cannot apologize to you thoroughly enough. I can only work tirelessly to ensure your freedom hence forth.” 

 

Sirius grunted. Regulus met Remus’s eyes to prevent himself from rolling his own. Remus sent him a half smile.

 

It was true that Dumbledore had been scrambling over the last month to make amends. He had brought Harry to them weekly, working with them as they prepared their stories for the jury. He had listened attentively as Sirius outlined his plans for after he gained freedom, including taking Harry in and finding his own place. But Regulus had noticed that as soon as the mock trials were complete, Dumbledore whisked Harry away, preventing the boy and his godfather from forging any semblance of close bonds. 

 

“Sirius,” Harry re-entered the room, his buttons offset. “Will you help me with these buttons? There are so many.”

 

Sirius jumped up eagerly and left with Harry, clapping him on the shoulder. There was an excited hesitance to both Sirius and Harry’s body language, a nervous energy that was almost palpable in the air. 

 

“As soon as Harry returns, we’ll have to get going,” Dumbledore said, gesturing to the floo. “Regulus, will Kreacher be joining us today?”

 

“Not today,” Regulus said. “We decided he should stay here with Sirius.”

 

“Very well,” Dumbledore agreed. “Ah, Harry! You’re look as shiny as spit on galleon. Shall we go?”

 

Sirius and Harry parted rather reluctantly. Dumbledore and Remus stepped through the fire first. Harry hesitated, glancing back at his godfather. 

 

“They’re going to find him guilty, Sirius,” the boy said in a low voice. “I  _ know  _ it.”

 

Sirius’s smile was strained. 

 

“Wait for me right here,” Harry ordered. “I want to be the one to tell you the good news.”

 

He tossed the powder in the flames and stepped through. Regulus smiled at his brother. 

 

“You heard the boy,” he said, stepping into the flames as well. “Sit, stay. See you soon, brother.”

 

‘Soon’ was a rather optimistic term, however. After five gruelling hours, in which Regulus, Harry, Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and the Weasley patriarch were drilled and cross-examined, the trial broke for lunch. The Ministry provided sandwiches which stuck in their throats and watered down pumpkin juice and then the trial reconvened. When Peter was dragged into the room, accompanied by two aurors and two dementors, he looked more pale and rat-like than ever. He quickly broke under questioning, crying and pleading for his life. 

 

“You-Know-Who was taking over everywhere!” he pleaded. “Lucius! You understand! You have sat where I am sitting, you know his power, his influence.”

 

Lucius Malfoy had stood then, adopting his most affronted and posh tone.

 

“Are you suggesting that you were imperiused? Because this court has declared myself and many of the other jury members innocent of intentional wrongdoing. You, however, admit to intentional acts of terrorism. Worse, you framed a prominent pure-blood heir for your crimes!”

 

“Order!” Madame Bones had cried. “I have heard enough. Jury, you are to deliberate on the following charges: 1 count of being an unlawful animagus, 12 counts of 2nd degree murder of muggle citizens, one 1st degree count of false imprisonment, two 1st degree counts of accessory to murder of wizarding citizens, and one 1st degree count of accessory to attempted murder of a wizarding infant.”

 

The jury had deliberated for another excruciating two hours. Madame Boned had read the decision and issued her final statement.

 

“Peter Pettigrew,” she said, looking the man right in the eyes. “I knew your mother. She was devastated when she believed you had died. Her only small comfort was the impression that you died a hero. I can only say that I am glad she passed before the truth was revealed about you. The jury has found you guilty of  _ all charges _ . Make no mistake - you will not be able to slip away and hide among the rats this time. Aurors, guards, please escort this man to the execution chamber where the dementor’s kiss will be administered.”

 

Peter let out  a shocked howl and began to scramble, but the chains around his arms and legs, plus the aurors’ grip on his arms, prevented him from escaping. The dementors swooped close as the aurors dragged Pettigrew into a small room off the main chamber. A cheer went up from the crowd, angry and ugly jeering that echoed. It had a frenetic energy about it, a blood lust. Harry was pale. 

 

“Order!  _ Order! _ Victims are permitted to view the administration of the kiss,” Madame Bones said. “In Sirius Black’s absence, this right falls to Regulus Black. As a minor, Harry Potter is afforded the right to witness the kiss if his guardians approve.”

 

Harry shook his head violently, his hands reaching blindly to the adults surrounding him. Arthur Weasley, Regulus, Remus, Minerva, and Albus rose as one, blocking the boy’s view. 

 

“We decline,” Regulus said firmly. “Please dismiss the chamber.”

 

“Witnesses are dismissed!” Madame Bones agreed firmly, looking faintly sickened herself. Regulus and Remus grabbed Harry under the arms and strode from the room, supporting the boy, who was trembling so hard he almost slipped from their grip as they navigated out of the risers and back to solid ground. 

 

“This way,” Arthur said soothingly, guiding them down a side chamber, up a staircase badly in need of repair, and into an older-style elevator. “We’ll avoid the press.”

 

“Have some chocolate, Harry,” Remus said, thrusting a smashed frog into the boy’s hand. Harry stuck it in his mouth numbly. His trembling slowed minutely as the old elevator creaked. Remus handed him another. The boy took this one more deliberately, taking one bite and then another. His color returned slightly. 

 

“Damn,” Arthur mumbled as the elevator clicked into place and the doors slid open. They were in a deserted side-chamber to the atrium, but a blonde-haired, square-jawed witch was waiting for them nonetheless. Her neon quill was posed in anticipation over a small notebook floating in thin air. 

 

“Harry! Regulus! Just a few questions - are you happy with today’s outcome? Why have you chosen to forego your victim’s rights by declining to view the administration of the kiss? Regulus, what do you think this means for Sirius’s fate? And Albus, are you worried about Sirius pressing charges against you for denying him a trial?”

 

“Shut up, Rita,” Arthur said savagely.

 

“And you! How does it feel knowing you had a murderer under your roof all these years, sleeping in the bedrooms of your children?”

 

Arthur flicked his wand at her, robbing her of her voice.  “Get out of the way.” 

 

“Grimmauld Place,” Regulus said firmly, tossing some floo powder into the fireplace and shoving Harry into it. 

 

The group rushed through after him. Regulus ignored the flash of fireplaces as he travelled, his mind on nothing but Harry and Sirius. He stepped out of his fireplace gracefully, striding purposefully out of the way to make room for the other witnesses. He scanned the room, his eyes meeting Kreacher’s. The elf was standing gravely in the corner. He nodded towards the drawing room door and Regulus glanced there quickly, his heart softening painfully at the sight. 

 

Sirius had Harry in a tight grip. Both had their heads bowed, tears glistening on their cheeks. Harry was trembling again, but smiling too, and Sirius was openly weeping, despite the overwhelmed, elated chuckling spilling from his lips. 

 

Regulus crossed to Kreacher.

 

“How was he?” He murmured softly. 

 

“Master Sirius drank heavily and slept in his dog form for most of the day,” Kreacher reported.

 

“It’s over,” Sirius laughed through his tears, seemingly unaware of the crowd gathering in the room. “I can’t believe it.”

 

Harry nodded against his chest and then started, pulling away suddenly and glancing at the rest of the room, his cheeks rapidly reddening. 

 

“Regulus, would you accompany me to your library?” Albus said suddenly. “I have some research I need to do and the Hogwarts library is woefully under stocked on this subject. Don’t tell Madame Pince I said so.” 

 

“Of course!” Regulus said. “Kreacher, would you take the rest of our guests into the kitchen for a strong pot of tea? Follow my elf, he’ll show you the way.”

 

They swept out of the room, carefully avoiding looking at Sirius and Harry, who seemed to be permanently pink. 

 

“It really is over,” Regulus said in amazement, holding the library door open for Dumbledore. 

 

“I’m afraid not,” the older man said. 

 

Regulus paused. 

 

“It’s been a long day, Albus. I’m not in the mood for riddles.”

 

The old man sighed.

 

“Regulus, my old friend. In all the excitement over Peter’s capture, a detail was lost. Harry revealed to me this morning that Sybil Trelawney made a prophecy to him the day of Peter’s reveal.”

 

Regulus met Albus’s gleaming, serious eyes and closed the heavy door with a definitive clunk. 

 

\---

 

In the days the followed, the house took on a festive, celebratory air. Harry was given permission to reside with them the rest of the summer. It was not uncommon to find him and Sirius laughing uproariously over some anecdote or other from Sirius’s time at Hogwarts. To Kreacher’s chagrin, they decorated a spare room in Gryffindor colors and played loud games of Quidditch in the dungeon. Remus was offered a position as an all-subject tutor on Hogwarts staff, an arrangement that somehow raised less concern from Lucius Malfoy than being named a professor of a specific subject. Fudge issued an official pardon to Sirius, clearing him of all charges other than being an unregistered animagus and breaking out of Azkaban, the punishments for which were “applied against time already served.” A large restitution payment was deposited in Sirius’ Gringotts’ account. Several prominent Ministry departments, defense leagues, and society witches publicly declared their offers to employ Sirius (in one capacity or another). 

 

In July, they celebrating Harry’s birthday with a frankly indecent display of magic, setting off fireworks at the Weasley’s home, casting color changing charms on every object in sight, and inviting the entire Gryffindor house. This meant, of course, that the all parents of the Gryffindor students attended. They spent  most of the party eying Sirius with fascination and pity, the bravest of the group approaching him and offering their condolences. Sirius would hear none of it, entertaining them all by transforming into Padfoot, or casting visually impressive charms to distract the curious. Remus had to take Sirius inside several times in order to help him relax enough to transform back, but the partygoers were none-the-wiser. The press the next day marvelled at how well-adjusted, charming, and witty the eldest Black brother was. All this was topped off by Sirius gifting six more firebolts to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. 

 

If Regulus was a little more reserved in his celebration, his house mates didn’t notice. At night, Kreacher and Regulus could be found in Regulus’s room, heads bent over Regulus’s horcrux research, or else analyzing the language of Trelawney’s prophecy against various divination texts. The prophecy seemed to indicate that Voldemort’s servant would return to him the night of Peter’s capture. Regulus could only hope it had been foiled when Peter had been handed over to the dementors, but he couldn’t shake the strong sense that it wouldn’t be that easy. 

 

The horcruxes presented another issue. Dumbledore felt confident that Voldemort would have been aiming for a seven part soul in total, but he wasn’t telling Regulus something- the younger Black heir knew Dumbledore well enough to notice when the old man was keeping his cards close to the chest. Regulus had refused to hand over the destroyed locket to Dumbledore, hoping it might reveal some hint as to what else Voldemort had turned into a horcrux. So far, Regulus could only determine that the coat of arms was genuinely Slytherin’s, but founder’s artifacts were nigh-impossible to find and so offered little clues as to where he might look next. Dumbledore claimed he was interrogating people from Voldemort’s past, but Regulus wasn’t sure how much stock he put in the old man’s methods. His aim was clearly good, but his refusal to expose his knowledge or seek feedback on his plans was a source of constant irritation. 

 

This meddling became apparent early in August as Regulus and Sirius visited the Ministry to finalize Harry’s custody arrangement. Sirius was flying high- he had gained some weight, taking him from skeletal prisoner to artfully thin rock god. His hair had grown quickly and was flopping over his forehead. Regulus suspected Sirius might have been helping it along with a few potions or spells, though Sirius vehemently denied it. Sirius was wearing well fitted scarlett dress robes, under which he was sporting a tight black shirt and pair of trousers. His stride was long, his voice loud; everyone was looking at him and he was preening in it.

 

“Today’s the day!” He said loudly. “James and Lily’s will was ironclad. Harry will be officially living with me within the hour.”

 

Harry was at Grimmauld Place with Remus, enjoying the fact that he could practice magic without the risk of attracting attention. Sirius’s many tales of pranks and exploits had lit a fire in Harry, who was used to using magic to survive. The availability of so many  _ fun  _ spells made Harry giddy as he practiced. Regulus, who still sometimes dreamed of Harry passed out in front of a dementor-boggart, enjoyed watching Remus teach the teenager, enjoyed the way Harry’s eyes lit up in laughter and triumph. Harry, who showed extraordinary power under the worst circumstances, was blossoming in these rather more ideal ones.

 

Regulus hummed noncommittally to Sirius’s ramblings. He had grave reservations after his conversation with Dumbledore. Harry’s very apparent abuse had never swayed the man to intervene in Harry’s home situation and Regulus suspected there was an unnamed motive behind that negligence. He was, therefore, not entirely surprised, though supremely disappointed, when the witch assigned to Sirius’s custody case shook her head sadly and slid an envelope across the desk to them. 

 

“I’m so sorry,” she said, looking between their shoulders and avoiding their eyes. “I can’t understand it. It should be open and shut. The order came from much, much higher up.”

 

“What do you mean?” Sirius demanded, standing up. “Denied? That’s impossible!”

 

“Mr. Black, I-”

 

“This is fucking immoral! After everything  _ your Ministry  _ has done to me-”

 

“Sirius,” Regulus said, standing as well. “It’s not her fault.”

 

The witch had shrunk into her chair and pushed away from the desk in alarm. Sirius’s eyes widened and he dropped back into his chair. 

 

“I apologize,” Sirius said stiffly. 

 

“I recommend that you apply again in a year,” she told him, visibly relieved that he was sitting. “Get a job, either paid or managing your estate. You could claim you Wizengamot seat- oh.” She glanced at Regulus. “Well, you two would need to work that out. Gather more information on the situation with his current guardians. Hard evidence.  Make a case for how their ignorance to magic has negatively impacted his schooling. Get his test scores. 

 

“We can go public,” Regulus said, his voice deceptively light. “Make it known that Sirius has met all these standards and  _ someone  _ in the Ministry is still blocking his custody attempts, against the wishes of the Potters.”

 

Sirius turned his head slowly to gaze at Regulus, looking very much like Padfoot when he scented a rabbit. His grey eyes glittered. 

 

“Got it. Let’s go, Regulus. Thank you.”

 

Their exit could not have been more opposite than their entrance. Sirius strode quickly, his head down and his steps determined. He said nothing as he navigated through the crowds, his eyes hard and dangerous. Wizards and witches stumbled out of his way. He looked powerful and cruel. Regulus was reminded of Hogwarts for the infinite time since Sirius had come back into his life. He could easily imagine James Potter striding next to him as the two of them sought out whatever Slytherin had been caught doing dark magic that week. 

 

The exited the floo into Grimmauld Place in a flurry. Harry and Remus were sitting expectantly, Harry’s face hopeful and delighted. When Sirius’s expression became apparent, Remus and Regulus shared a grave glance. Harry half stood. 

 

“Sirius?” he asked in a small voice. Regulus was struck by how very young Harry really was. 

 

“Denied,” Sirius said in a harsh voice. “Fucking- bastards- denied-!” 

 

Harry looked crushed. He stood frozen for a minute.

 

“Right,” he said. “Yeah- I mean. It’s fine. I can still-visit.”

 

He turned and fled from the room. They could hear his feet pounding on the stairs as he rushed upstairs. A door slammed a moment later. 

 

The three men looked at one another. 

 

“Well, fuck,” Regulus finally said. 

 

“Sirius,” Remus said, striding to the man and placing one hand on his shoulder. Sirius shrugged him off. 

 

“I can see you’re disappointed,” Remus said softly. “But you’re his parent now, no matter what the government says. You have to control the message better. He’s a child.”

 

“Fuck off,” Sirius muttered. “What are you even doing here all the time? You don’t live here. You’ve already had a year with him! Merlin, Moony, it’s my turn.” 

 

Remus sucked in a harsh breath and Regulus caught a glance of the haunted, tired man he had worked beside all year. 

 

“Sirius-” Regulus started to say, but Remus held up one hand.

 

“It’s okay. I’m going to go say goodbye to Harry. Padfoot, you will be able to find me in my Hogwarts quarters when you’re ready.” 

 

Remus strode out of the room. His steps on the stairs were firm and deliberate; Regulus could picture him smoothing his features, pushing down the tension as he rose. 

 

“Fuck,” Sirius said. “Fuck me, I’m an idiot. Fuck! They’re right, I’m not fit to be a parent, I’m not even fit to be a lo- friend.” 

 

“Sirius,” Regulus said with an eye roll. “I know your relationship with Remus isn’t platonic. Stop this charade.” 

 

“Humph,” Sirius said, throwing himself in Regulus’s chair. “Shows what you know. He’ll hardly touch me.”

 

“Unnecessary detail, Sirius.” Regulus said in a long-suffering voice. When Sirius didn’t even react, Regulus decided to try a different tactic. “Maybe he can see you’re psychologically damaged and he doesn’t want to take advantage of you,” Regulus said, waving his wand and dumping Sirius from his chair unceremoniously.  “Kreacher! Something strong, please, for my brother here.”

 

Kreacher appeared with a pop, holding out a goblet to Sirius, not even blinking to see the eldest Black brother in a heap on the ground. Sirius rose, yanking his robes into place, and took it without comment. He drank deeply. Regulus watched Sirius’s body language and determined the alcohol was working; with a small smile, he waved his wand again and conjured an oversized dog bed atop the loveseat. 

 

“Humph,” Sirius said again, before dropping into the cushion and curling his arms around his knees. 

 

“Thank you Kreacher,” Regulus said. “Sirius, it’s time that we talked. I know you went through a lot in Azkaban.” He held up one hand to stop Sirius as his brother opened his mouth, eyes sharp. “You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to. But I do need to tell  _ you  _ about everything that’s happened since I turned spy. 

 

“I’m very confident that I know who blocked your custody bid. What I don’t know, precisely, is why. But you have to understand everything that Harry’s gone through, everything that’s been allowed to happen to him, to see why I am not surprised. Are you ready to listen?”

 

Sirius was gazing at him intently. 

 

“I don’t know,” his brother said, honest, raw. His face was ashen, eyes wide and glassy. “I saw so much in Azkaban...torture...death...the images in my own head. I don’t know if I can handle hearing about the shit that happened out here too.”

 

Regulus swallowed hard. He felt a physical flash of pain at the guilt that washed over him. A memory of the two of them rose up like a ghost, Regulus dutifully recounting his brother’s misdoings and being forced to watch him bare the punishment. Regulus had always been soft-hearted, his mother had said, and needed to work on controlling his expression.

 

And here he was, hurting him again

 

“If you’re going to be Harry’s guardian,” he finally said softly, “-and you will - you have to know.” 

 

Sirius swallowed hard. 

 

“Kreacher?” he said finally. The elf popped back into the room, gazing at Sirius in weary disbelief.

 

“Master Sirius is asking for Kreacher,” the elf stated. His large, bloodshot eyes glanced at Regulus for confirmation. Regulus nodded encouragingly. “What can Kreacher do for Master Sirius?”

 

“Get me another drink,” Sirius muttered. Regulus cleared his throat meaningfully. 

 

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Regulus said. 

 

“Yeah,” Sirius muttered.

 

Kreacher popped out and back again, holding out a bottle of clear liquor to Sirius. 

 

“Let Kreacher know if you need more,” Kreacher said, seeming to have just as much trouble talking to Sirius. 

 

“Sure,” Sirius said. “Uh- thanks... I guess.”

 

Sirius drank deeply, directly from the bottle, his legs still curled close to his chest. Kreacher turned to go.

 

“Kreacher,” Regulus said. “Perhaps you should stay.”

 

Kreacher nodded warily and came to stand by Regulus’s side. Regulus reached out one hand and brushed it against Kreacher’s body shoulder. 

 

“I want Sirius to understand how we ended up working alongside Dumbledore,” Regulus told the elf, watching him for signs of discomfort. Sure enough, Kreacher’s bloodshot eyes widened and he began to shake slightly. “Will you help me explain?”

 

“Kreacher will help Master Regulus to tell the story,” Kreacher finally agreed. The elf clambered up onto an ottoman near Regulus, taking deep breaths as he settled himself there as gracefully as possible.

 

They sat in silence for a moment as Regulus gathered his thoughts.

 

“Well, are you going to start or not?” Sirius snapped.

 

“I’m thinking before I speak, Sirius,” Regulus said.

 

“Something Master Sirius should try,” Kreacher mumbled. 

 

Sirius huffed.

 

“It starts...with Kreacher.”

 

Regulus spread his hands wide on his knees, examining how white they looked against the dark green. Sirius said nothing, but Regulus could feel his eyes on him, feel the curiosity and disgust and confusion churning in his brother’s mind. 

 

“Mother knew I didn’t have the constitution to be a Death Eater,” Regulus said. He suddenly felt very insecure. “But with you having run off and Andromeda having married Ted Tonks, there were whispers that the house of Black was faltering. So I did what I knew she expected of me and joined up, my seventh year.”

 

Sirius twitched but said nothing. 

 

“I thought...I didn’t think it was as bad as Dumbledore had been preaching. I was wrong,” Regulus said, and that old admittance still stung. “I could see clear as veritaserum that Wizarding culture was being diluted. It wasn’t that I hated muggleborns or half-bloods, it was that I couldn’t stand the way magic was being assigned morals based on this ignorant perspective- all magic has its place. Magic is not good or evil; people are.”

 

It was an old speech, an argument he had occasionally made for his students, on those brief moments when he pulled back the curtains and let them in on his own nuanced past. 

 

“I believed the argument being put forth in the Slytherin dungeons- that the terrorism was just fringe actors or even that the Death Eaters were being framed. And I could see that muggle religion and superstition was muddying our culture, our practices, our understanding of the arcane,” Regulus said. “So joining made sense.”

 

Sirius stiffened. It was easy to imagine him as Padfoot, fur bristled and standing on end. He pulled back his lips, exposing his weakened teeth in a cruel smile.

 

“ _ Muddying?  _ Really, Regulus?”

 

Regulus had to fight the urge to bring his hands up to tuck his hair. I know Sirius, he reminded himself. I  _ know  _ him. 

 

“Master Sirius is purposely twisting Master Regulus’s words!” Kreacher said, his age spots tightening as he clenched his fists.

 

“No matter,” Regulus said. “The point is, I was wrong to join. After I was marked, Mother made me come home to a party; full dress robes required.”

 

Sirius winced, fully understanding the implications. The hours long, multiple-course dinner parties had been excruciating when they were kids; Regulus still wasn’t sure how he’d survived following his marking. The night had passed in a feverish blur, his body twitching in residual shock, his magic on high alert as his stomach tossed and roiled in pain. Each of the guests had requested to see the mark, patting him painfully on the back, their voices making his head pound. 

 

“I blacked out at one point. I heard Mother say I must have had too much to drink.” Regulus snorted. “That was less shameful than being in pain, that I couldn’t handle what had happened. I heard people leave. It felt like hours that I waited for her, but when she finally returned, she told me to get a hold of myself and stormed out of the room.”

 

“I may have to go Padfoot,” Sirius muttered suddenly, wiping his hand across his mouth, through his hair, down the front of his robes.

 

“That’s acceptable,” Regulus said, trembling slightly himself. “I wish I could.”

 

“Kreacher came in then,” Kreacher said suddenly. His voice was protective and gruff. “Mistress was a proper pureblood but Mistress did not appreciate her family enough. Kreacher apparated Master Regulus upstairs. Kreacher was worried Master’s heart would stop, so Kreacher watched him all night. Master Regulus’s magic fought against the Dark Lord’s mark, but Master Regulus was strong. We made it through.”

 

There was a sound outside the door, which opened to reveal Remus and Harry looking mildly sheepish. 

 

“The floo is in here,” Remus said. 

 

“Wait,” Regulus said. “I think you should hear this too.”

 

“Sure,” Remus said, mild expression betrayed by the hard undercurrent in his voice. “If Sirius will allow it.”

 

“Moony,” Sirius started apologetically. 

 

“I  _ request  _ it,” Regulus interrupted. 

 

“I’ll just go upstairs,” Harry muttered. His eyes were rimmed in red. 

 

“Harry, you too,” Regulus said. The boy looked shocked and then pleased. He slunk in and sat near his godfather, looking as though he hoped that if he made himself unobtrusive enough, Regulus wouldn’t change his mind. Remus sat on Harry’s other side. 

 

Regulus glanced at Kreacher and then took a deep breath. 

 

“About a year after I was marked, shortly after I graduated, Voldemort requested the use of a house elf. I was terrified by what I had been seeing, but I was foolish, selfish,” Regulus said, voice hard and full of loathing. “I thought if I granted him this favor, it was one more shield between him and me. I didn’t realize I was bargaining my life against Kreacher’s.”

 

Harry sucked in a deep breath and then froze like a rabbit spotted by a predator.

 

“Master Regulus told Kreacher to come straight home,” Kreacher said, his own voice trembling now. “Master Regulus did everything he could.”

 

Regulus smiled at the elf, but the old guilt was strong.

 

“The Dark Lord took Kreacher to a cave,” The elf continued haltingly. “He made Kreacher drink a potion. Kreacher saw...terrible things…” 

 

“A Dementor Drought,” Regulus supplied.

 

Sirius shuddered and Lupin winced. Even Harry’s eyes widened. 

 

“Imagine ten dementors closed around you,” Regulus continued. “You have no wand to cast a Patronus. And they don’t kiss you and give you relief- you just feel the press of them until the potion wears off. As all your happiness leaks away, you’re left with your worst memories. But there’s more- the potion has a hallucinogen in it. Your worst memories change to nightmares.”

 

Sirius is trembling. Remus reaches around Harry’s shoulders and touches Sirius gently. 

 

“And your mouth,” Regulus continued, “becomes impossibly-”

 

“Dry,” Kreacher croaked, eyes glassy and distant. Regulus wordlessly conjured a goblet and filled it with water.

 

“Kreacher told you all that?” Harry asks, green eyes sharp as he looked at Regulus. 

 

“Very astute, Harry,” Regulus said. “No. I invented it.”

 

Sirius pushed up from the couch abruptly, backing away from his family. He shook his head and took deep, gasping breaths. 

 

“I can’t,” he muttered, turning on the spot and transforming into Padfoot. He panted a few more moments, his lips gradually relaxing out of a snarl. Then he hopped back up onto the couch, pushing between Harry and Remus to settle safely between them. The dog bed Regulus had conjured in jest fell to the floor beneath their feet.

 

“Another one of my attempts to get in the Dark Lord’s good graces,” Regulus said. His voice was flat. Kreacher was gripping his arm painfully, but he did not mind; he needed the pressure to stay grounded. “I had  _ no  _ idea he would subject my elf to it,  _ no  _ idea what he was using it to protect…”

 

“Which was what?” Remus asked. “What was so important to protect that he’d-” Remus gestured wordlessly to Kreacher.

 

“A horcrux,” Regulus said. Padfoot let out a low growl. “You know of them?”

 

“I do,” Remus said. “But I wouldn’t have when I was seventeen.”

 

“Yes, well, you grew up in a different sort of family than we did,” Regulus said simply. He could see that Harry was confused, his eyes narrowed as he took in the conversation. “A horcrux, Harry, is an object in which one conceals part of their soul. It means that you cannot truly die. But to create a horcrux,a person must commit an act of great evil, which tears their soul in two. And the ritual to extract the soul fragment and conceal it in the object is its own unspeakable act.”

 

Padfoot shuddered and placed his shaggy head on Harry’s knee. 

 

“I knew I could not follow this madman any more. I asked Kreacher to take me back to the cave.”

 

Kreacher was trembling, his fingers gripped ever tighter on Regulus. 

 

“Kreacher begged Master Regulus not to go,” the elf said. “I begged him to stay home, to let me go instead-!”

 

“I insisted. Kreacher showed me to the cave and I drank the potion. At the bottom of the basin, there was a locket. I had already ordered Kreacher to take it and destroy it, to leave me behind. I intended to die as penance for my part in the horrors the Dark Lord was inflicting.”

 

Kreacher let out a wail that seemed entirely involuntary. Regulus tried to smile at him, feeling rather emotional himself. His face felt painful and clenched. He closed his eyes and pulled up a memory, forcing himself to consider each of his senses. 

 

Wind in his hair. Green robes flapping against his legs. The whoosh in his ears as he dives, feeling weightless as he speeds towards the ground. The triumph that blooms in his chest, physically ballooning, when his hands close on the cold snitch, soft wings brushing uselessly against his fist. 

 

He opened his eyes, feeling much more centered.

“Kreacher wouldn’t allow it,” he continued. The elf’s hand twitched on his arm, the ghost of the old disobedience gripping the elf. “And I’m forever grateful. It was the right choice.”

 

“But Master Regulus was in a panic,” Kreacher said. “Kreacher tried everything to destroy the locket. It resisted all of Kreacher’s magic, and Master Regulus’s too. Meanwhile, Master Regulus grew more gaunt by the day, serving the Dark Lord and hiding this secret. Kreacher knew Master Regulus would die if something didn’t change soon.”

 

“So we went to Dumbledore,” Regulus took back the thread of the conversation. “It was Kreacher who arranged it. Dumbledore would never be cruel to an elf, even one in the service of a Death Eater. We turned spy.”

 

“And that’s how we remained until Mr. Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord,” Kreacher said, nodding in Harry’s direction. 

 

“My mother,” Harry muttered. 

 

“What?” Remus said sharply. 

 

Harry shifted uncomfortably. 

 

“Dumbledore told me when she died for me, it created a protection,” he said uncomfortably, shifting away from their gazes. “At first I thought, what mother wouldn’t? But I heard her this year- he gave her a choice. That’s what other kids didn’t have.” 

 

“A choice Severus Snape had begged for,” Regulus said. “It cost him his life. I’m surprised the Dark Lord offered, after he killed Severus for suggesting it.”

 

“Who?” Harry said.

 

Padfoot growled softly, shifting uncomfortably. 

 

“Yes, even Severus was good in the end, Sirius,” Regulus said with an eyeroll. The old rivalry was comfortable, a welcome distraction from the weight of the conversation. “A childhood friend of your mother’s, Harry, and a childhood rival of your father’s.”

 

Padfoot huffed, and then shuddered. His form elongated and was replaced with the pale visage of his brother. He placed a hand on Harry’s arm hesitantly, and when the boy didn’t resist, threw his arm over his shoulders. 

 

“Your never going to have to hear her like that again,” Sirius said. Regulus thought it showed great maturity that he focused on his godson and didn’t comment on Severus. “Remus and I- we can show you our memories of them. Lily could yell like you couldn’t believe. A bit of a champion for the neglected and maligned. Only one who could put James right in his place. ”

 

“And James was a right prat- a bit of a show off,” Remus added. “But loyal like you wouldn’t believe. And whip-smart.”

 

Harry lit up like a lumos charm, looking as though he’d never heard so generous an offer.

 

“So what happened to the horcrux?” Sirius asked.

 

“Dumbledore was able to destroy it. But he suspected there may be more than one. And Harry here proved it.”

 

“What?” Sirius said sharply. 

 

“I’m getting ahead of myself. Harry, would you like to share the events of your first year with your godfather?” 

 

Harry shifted, the excitement on his face faltering slightly. 

 

“Well…” he said hesitantly. “Voldemort was possessing my Defence professor.”

 

“ _ What? _ ” Sirius asked again, voice sharper than ever. “How could Dumbledore not know?”

 

“It gets worse,” Regulus warned.

 

“Uh-” Harry said. “Well, he was after the Sorcerer’s Stone. Which was in the school. And he almost got it, except Ron and Hermione and I stopped him.” He looked bashful and avoided Sirius’s incredulous gaze. Regulus had noticed that Harry didn’t like attention, for all he was constantly drawing it onto himself. 

 

“Dumbledore must have known,” Sirius said darkly. “Why would he hide it in the school the very year Harry returned?” 

 

“An excellent question,” Regulus said. “And one I have been wondering myself.”

 

“I wasn’t defenseless,” Harry said, rather defensive himself at the moment. “I had Ron and Hermione and I knew a few spells and I had my flute for Fluffy and we’d studied Devil’s Snare and I’m a half-decent flyer-”

 

“Harry,” Remus said soothingly. “I’m sure you were exceptional. But a child, let alone a first year, should never have had to take on Lord Voldemort, no matter how weakened. It was foolish of Albus to bring it to the school. A Fidelus surely would have sufficed.”

 

“I-” Harry started, then faltered, looking confused. “I needed to face him. I had to- I had to protect them. They were all looking at me like- you don’t understand.” His hands balled up into fist. The three adults shared a look, clearly all thinking they understood more than Harry realized. “I was famous for something I couldn’t even remember!”

 

“And Albus understood that. He took a calculated risk- that the Dark Lord wouldn’t be able to resist you, and that you wouldn’t be able to resist fighting back.”

 

Harry was pale. 

 

“I’m not speaking ill of him, Harry,” Regulus continued, voice more gentle now. “Maybe you did need it. But it’s not the path most adults would have hoisted on you.”

 

Harry said nothing. There was an angry gleam in his eye, and Regulus couldn’t gauge who it was directed towards. 

 

“It’s okay if you disagree, Harry,” Remus said soothingly. 

 

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed. “We’re not- we won’t- we’re not the kind of family who abandons you for being different.”

 

The three men looked at one another for a second- two, having grown up with a family for whom abuse was a reasonable response to strong headedness, one, who had lived as an outcast every year since seven. They were a mangled, unlikely group, but one determined not to make the same mistakes they had been subjected to. 

 

Harry looked marginally more happy. 

 

“But what’s this about a horcrux?” Remus said, directing them back to the issue at hand. “What happened last year, Harry?”

 

“Well,” the boy shifted again, looking rather sheepish now. “My best friend’s sister was possessed by Voldemort’s old diary. He forced her to open the Chamber of Secrets and his Basilisk petrified a few students. And a cat. And a ghost.”

 

Sirius made a strange noise in the back of his throat. 

 

“Anyway, I guess that was a horcrux she had,” Harry said. “I didn’t know that though. He took her down into the Chamber so Ron and I went after her-” 

 

Now Remus made a shocked noise, turning rather pale. His hand went to his heart. 

 

“And I thought James was reckless,” he muttered. 

 

“We tried to take a teacher!” Harry argued weakly. “But he was a fraud. He tried to wipe our memories.”

 

“Oh, was that you?” Regulus asked with interest. “I wondered what happened to old Lockhart to make him so barmy.”

 

“Gilderoy?” Sirius said sharply. Then he smiled, looking rather close to being canine. “I never liked him.” 

 

“Anyway, I can speak Parseltongue, so-”

 

“ _ WHAT?!”  _ Sirius asked, looked more and more caught up in his emotions as the stories wound on. 

 

“Yeah, I guess maybe Voldemort passed some of his skills on to me,” Harry said, shifting uncomfortably. “They’re quite nice, you know, most of the time, snakes.”

 

The room was silent for a beat. 

 

“So, er- I went down to the Chamber, and Dumbledore’s phoenix brought me the Sorting Hat and it gave me the Sword of Gryffindor and I killed the basilisk and then stabbed the diary. With its fang. And I guess it sort of- died?”

 

“And so we had proof of horcrux number two,” Regulus said, rather enjoying the stunned silence in the room. “Now, given what we know of Voldemort, it’s reasonable to believe there may have been more. Dumbledore is searching down old acquaintances and trying to extract relevant memories- but I confess, I don’t have absolute faith in his methods.”

 

Sirius stood and began to pace. 

 

“ _ Why  _ would he keep subjecting Harry to these dangers? The prophecy?”

 

It was Harry’s turn to be sharp. “The what?”

 

“It’s the reason your parents went into hiding,” Sirius said dismissively. “Something about you being able to defeat Voldemort. But prophecies are false all the time. The Department of Mysteries is full of unfulfilled prophecies. It’s not like Dumbledore to put so much store in one.”

 

“But Voldemort must,” Remus mused. “And Dumbledore must think he’ll come after Harry eventually, either way. So he leaves the door a little cracked and arms Harry with  _ just  _ enough knowledge to come out of it- alive, if not wholly well…”

 

“No,” Harry said. “Dumbledore wouldn’t...he’s not like that. He’s a friend. I’m not just a- just a tool.”

 

He rubbed his scar and stood as well, looking very much like he wanted to pace or throw something. 

 

“Harry,” Regulus said very gently. Kreacher cracked away and back, offering the boy a glass of cool water and a bar of chocolate. “How do your relatives treat you?”

 

“What?” Harry asked, looking completely thrown even as he stuffed the chocolate into his mouth. He looked distant as he chewed, that dull mask that Regulus was so used to seeing dropping into place. “Fine.”

 

“Harry,” Sirius said, coming to a stop. “You’re with family now. Regulus and I know what it’s like to be...mistreated.” 

 

“It’s not because they’re muggles,” Harry rushed to say. “Lots of muggles were perfectly nice to me. The Dursley’s just...don’t like magic very much.”

 

“Making you do all the cooking and cleaning isn’t normal, Harry,” Regulus said gently. “Withholding food isn’t normal. Bars on your window isn’t normal. Sleeping in a closet isn’t normal.”

 

Harry seemed surprised that Regulus knew all this. 

 

Sirius growled. 

 

“But Dumbledore keeps sending you back there,” Sirius said. It was not a question. 

 

Harry looked more confused than ever. 

 

“It’s the blood protection. As long as I call my mother’s sister’s house home-”

 

“But do you, really, in your soul?” Remus asked. 

 

The answer was plain on Harry’s face. 

 

“No,” Harry whispered miserably. “It’s Hogwarts. It’s always been Hogwarts.”

 

The men shared another knowing look over his head. 

 

“We felt that way too,” Sirius finally said. “Because we didn’t have a happy place to come back to.” 

 

Sirius reached out a hand for Harry’s and pulled him to his feet. Remus stood as well, gesturing Regulus to come closer. 

 

“I promise,” Sirius said, stooping slightly to look in Harry’s wide, green eyes. “That I will do everything-  _ anything _ \- in my power to get you out of the Dursley’s. You’re not alone anymore.”

 

Harry shook. The scent and static of Sirius’s magic was strong in the air, relaying the seriousness of his words. 

 

“As do I,” Regulus said. 

 

“And I,” Remus agreed. 

 

“And Kreacher,” said the elf. 

 

Harry stared at them. A slow smile spread over his face. 

 

“I believe you,” he said, and their combined power washed over them like a wave, sealing the vow. 

 

Regulus rubbed his hands together. 

 

“Then let us begin.”

 

_ Fin _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! We're to the end. Keep an eye out for the sequel in the next few weeks!


End file.
